Don't be afraid to sing
by The Bride of Bronn
Summary: Sansa could never trust a Lannister again. But after Tyrion sought her friendship, she eventually learns to accept him, and falls in love with him despite the death and darkness that surrounded their families. Set between the events season 2 and season 3.
1. Unbowed Unbent Unbroken

A/N: _This is my second ASoIaF fanfiction dedicated to my friend, Paula. They center on the budding platonic and eventually romantic relationship between Tyrion Lannister and Sansa Stark. The events in this work, as well as other details in canon, are loosely based on George Martin's material, but some of them have deviated from the original source. The chapters themselves are named from the sigils of various Houses in Westeros. Also, the premise of this story is during _A Clash of Kings _and _A Sword of Swords_. The story will compose of twelve chapters and each chapter ends with lyrics from songs that depict the essence of the story at hand._

_I would like to thank **TheLastPhenom** as my beta. _

**Review are very much appreciated.**

* * *

**Unbowed. Unbent. Unbroken**

* * *

Tyrion saw the flash of Ser Meryn's hand as he struck Sansa Stark on her left cheek. Her body slammed against the wall behind her and then she slipped to the floor. She stood up as quickly as she collapsed but Ser Meryn grabbed a fistful of her auburn hair then, pulling her close to him before he slapped her on the other cheek. She collided against the wall again and fell to her knees. This time she stayed down and her whole body shook as she sobbed in silence. He saw the cracks in her lips where the blood burst through.

A second passed. And then another.

Sansa Stark pulled herself up and tried to stand straight as she met the knight's gaze. She didn't flinch when he struck her for the third time. Her feet found their place at last.

She did not fall again.

* * *

Tyrion always struggled to walk. His legs are heavy underneath him that oftentimes when he would shuffle his boots against cobblestones, he swore he feels the ground pushing back.

Still, it was riding horses that displeased him more than anything, and when there was no travel expected of him, he avoided horseback as much as he could. When he was nine, Jaime had once offered a mule to accompany him on journeys and Cersei laughed—cackled like a witch—at the thought. She was probably imagining how utterly stupid he would look. Tyrion had to blink away the tears as he shouted at Jaime that he will not be the laughingstock of Casterly Rock. Cersei insisted that his birth, his very existence, is itself a cosmic joke. That was the last time Tyrion got angry and cried in front of his siblings. He knew at that moment that Cersei will forever want him dead.

It also occurred to him that Jaime, in spite of the way he seemed to cherish Tyrion, will never quite understand what it was like to be _incomplete_.

His brother is perfect. His sister is beautiful. And he is a dwarf—an imp—and he never felt big enough to be anything else.

* * *

"WHAT IS THE MEANING OF THIS, YOU BLOODY FOOLS?" Tyrion had shouted then, and he felt the weight of his outrage in his throat. Anger always made him feel bigger. He walked with every confidence he could muster as he demanded his nephew—king of all seven kingdoms and protector of the realm—to back down.

"She is to be your queen! Have you no regard for her honor?"

"The king can do as he likes!" the little shit Joffrey screamed back, his crown falling to the side slightly. He nodded towards Ser Meryn and the knight pulled hard on Sansa's gown and tore the laces behind her back with his sword. She still didn't make a sound as she put both hands on her chest to cover what was left of her. Ser Meryn made a grab at her hair again.

This time Tyrion hit his nephew and when the little shit tried to cuss at his face, Tyrion hit him again. Ser Meryn would've intervened but the captain of his guard Bronn already had a knife on his neck. Joffrey squealed and tried to look dignified as he picked up his crown which fell the third time Tyrion chastised him.

"Mother will hear of this!"

"Go run to her then." Tyrion spat back. He looked behind him and saw Sansa Stark standing still with eyes downcast and not uttering a single sound.

With his chest heavy with guilt, he walked to her.

* * *

An aging singer once stayed at Winterfell when Sansa was seven. Every morning, he sung about giants moving boulders away from the clouds so that the sun will be at its peak; of rainfall blessed with magic that when it poured on flowers, they began to talk like people. In the afternoon he sung about a flightless white bird dying at the edge of a snowy cliff, until a merciful warlock took pity and turned the snow around him into wings. He sung to Sansa every night about a princess named Jonquil, imprisoned in the high tower somewhere far away and singing to a knight who will come for her one day. Before she could hear him finish the verses a week later, he left. She begged to her father to bring him back. She cried and shouted but her father only took her to the side and told her that there is no need for her to fret about giants, talking flowers, snow-winged birds and Jonquil.

He kissed her on both cheeks and told her she was a living song and that her world will always be as pretty and happy as she was. Sansa believed him.

He had lied to her about the monsters though. She learned that too late.

* * *

When the beatings were over, Sansa's knees gave out and she knelt to the ground. Her cheeks stung while the rest of her body felt as if it was going to disintegrate. She only looked up to where the Iron Throne was when she saw Tyrion Lannister approaching, his short-stacked legs wobbling a bit. When he was near, his hand stretched towards her and there was an edge to his voice when he said. "Do not be afraid."

Sansa did not trust him. He was a lion like the rest of them.

He didn't take another step as his hand remained reaching for hers. Sansa looked at his mismatched eyes and took some comfort in the fact that they were not tainted with cruelty.

Without thinking about it, she was reaching back. When their palms touched and his fingers closed around hers, she felt a jolt of repulsion because he was an enemy…but there was something else too.

He was strong enough to pull her back to her feet. "Take her to my chambers. Get her washed and dressed." He told her handmaids.

As her handmaids wrapped a cloth around her bruised body, Sansa risked a glance at Tyrion Lannister and they ended up looking at each other in the eye.

She turned away first as if burned by his slightest gaze.

* * *

Tyrion noticed Sansa Stark during the feast at Winterfell and couldn't stop looking her way initially. She was a child but very beautiful that it's almost impossible not to imagine her blooming into womanhood anytime soon. He stopped watching her once he had his fill of wine and felt sleep taking over him.

He left the banquet then and fumbled his way through the staircases. He had to drag his legs when he did and once or twice he fell and laughed.

"My lord?" he heard a voice from behind him and knew it was the girl.

"Do you know which of these doors lead to my chamber?" he asked, snorting out a laugh. "I never should have consumed that much ale and mutton all at once."

He heard her approaching and she stood in front of him, lithe and pretty.

_And quite tall…_

Without another word, she leaned close and placed her hand under his arms. "With your permission…?" she began but Tyrion was already holding on to her, forgetting how ridiculous and embarrassing this would look if another person were to see them. Once she got him on his feet, she coolly pointed a door at the end of the hallway. "Would you like the servants to bring you more candles, my lord?"

"No." He grinned clumsily at her placid, beautiful face. And then he reached out a hand and patted her on the knee. When he did, his fingers tightened around it for a while and then he let go. "Thank you."

Sansa Stark curtsied, a faint smile touching her lips. He smiled back. And then he giggled. Like a giddy child. He couldn't stop himself. Sansa watched, her eyebrows knitting together in confusion. When he managed to get his giggle fits under control, she was smiling wider than before. It made him sheepish all of a sudden and so began to walk away from her.

"Goodnight, my lord." She called out. He was tempted to look back, and when he did, she was already heading back downstairs. Tyrion stood there outside the door, his hand on the knob. The sight of her leaving made him anguished for no reason at all.

* * *

Sansa looked around the chambers and couldn't stop shaking even now that she's fully-clothed and all that blood had been scrubbed off her. They called these rooms the Tower of the Hand. This was where her late father had slept. Sansa was almost tempted to smell the sheets but decided against it. She did not understand why the Hand took her here. It doesn't matter, though. She will not be made a fool of. If Tyrion Lannister would ask about her family, like they always do, she will reply the same as always. _My father was a traitor. My mother and brothers are traitors too. I am loyal to my beloved Joffrey._

The door opened and Tyrion Lannister stepped in.

"I'm very sorry, my lady." As soon as he reached her, he stopped to hold her gaze. She nodded stiffly, never once forgetting who he was.

She cautioned herself with what she was going to say next. "I thank you for the kindness, my lord."

He raised an eyebrow. "You are most courteous to say so."

Tyrion Lannister stood close to her now. Since she sat, they were of the same height now. He was watching her for a while and it occurred to her that he must have been looking at the cuts in her lips and the bruises on her forehead and cheeks. Most of them were from a week ago, during the riot in the streets. If he wanted to see, then who am I deny him?

Sansa tilted her chin up so he could look at everything.

His face softened as he spoke. "You should not have to endure all of this, my lady. If you wish to end your engagement with my nephew, I could find a way to prevent it."

_Liar_. "I'm loyal to my Joffrey. My one true love."

He flinched at the statement as if her deception personally injured him. Sighing, he walked to the table to their right. He slightly struggled to get on the chair. As soon as he sat, he rubbed a hand on his thigh and answered her. "You don't have to trust me." Sansa looked at the hands on her lap and realized she had formed them into fists earlier. "I will never give you a reason to doubt me either, my lady," he added.

She couldn't look at him, not even when he called for her to sit on the table with him. When they were on either side, Tyrion Lannister pushed the basket of fruits towards her and because she did not want him to think she was disrespecting him, she picked an orange and slowly pushed her thumbs on its surface, getting ready to unpeel it. When the juices spilled on her fingers, it was almost as sticky as blood and it made her cringe. She hurriedly licked it and forgot that he was still watching her closely. She kept her eyes down now as she unpeeled the fruit.

"I'm familiar with Northern tradition," he began. "I believe that a lady is required to practice her needlework and dance every day before she turns sixteen."

Sansa was not sure where the rest of this conversation was going and she was taught not to interrupt a person, especially a noble lord, when he had yet to finish his point. She waited.

"I could arrange for your lessons, find you a proper septa to keep you occupied with activities you grew up with and loved," he smiled at her and she knew he was waiting for a sign of gratitude. She did not hesitate then.

"I thank my lord for the kindness."

"You think me kind? Truly?" he chuckled. He paused and then. "Can I have a slice of that orange?" She looked at him at last, trying to read what he intends to accomplish from mocking her but there was only a soft smile on his lips the whole time. She was able to watch his face better at this distance. His mismatched eyes, one green and the other grey, magnified her distrust. She felt as if he was probing her with them. His hair was a disarray of faded golden locks and he was never as handsome as Joffrey or his brother the Kingslayer. Sansa never truly thought him ugly, though. The Hound's features were more terrifying and it has probably more to do with the bitterness in his every look. Tyrion Lannister's face was inscrutable even as he smiled, so she was never so sure how to handle herself around him.

She was able to hand him a piece from across the table. When he took it, he was very gentle that she did not see his other hand appeared from the other side and grabbed her by the wrist. He lifted the sleeve and exposed the knife wounds which were still fresh. She trembled in his grip but did not move, afraid that he might chastise her the same way he did Joffrey earlier.

"Did you do this to yourself?"

She replied. "Yes."

Tyrion Lannister scoffed, tightening his grip but not enough to hurt her. "That means you didn't. Did Joffrey command one of his knights to do this?"

"No, my lord."

"That means 'yes'." He let her go and squeezed the orange inside his palm. He looked…angry. It puzzled her. She pulled her wrist away and rolled the sleeve down.

A moment of silence passed between them.

"Unless you speak up, I cannot help." His fingers drumming on the table.

She watched his fingers. "What would you have me say, my lord?"

"Whatever your heart needs to sing for."

Sansa blinked, confusion almost swallowing her up. "What…do I say?"

"I don't need to tell you that."

"But I…I only aim to please you, my lord."

"You're doing a bad job at it then, because I am certainly not pleased."

_I don't understand what he wants me to do and what he wants me to say to make him happy._ Sansa licked her lips. The cuts in them tasted like copper.

_If he doesn't get what he wants, he might hurt me._

"I suppose I should start then," Tyrion Lannister interjected. He stopped drumming his fingers. The look he gave her was chilling. "You have never known anything rotten in your life and so every time Joffrey and his knights beat you, all that pain doesn't change what you are and what you believe in. But you can't run away from the things inside your head, Sansa."

She just stared at him in silence though she understood what he meant. _He's calling me a coward_. Joffrey called her stupid and shoved her to his knights so they could break her. The queen had told her that she was blind and pitiful to wish for any man who was gentle, brave and strong to marry her for love. Everyone in the seven kingdoms said that she was a traitor's daughter and she must suffer for his treason. She understood everything better than they thought but she buried all of it at the depths of her heart and readied herself for another smile the next time they tell her she was weak. She will not lash out or fight or scream or die. She was a lady and she remembered all her lessons well.

_A lady's armor is her courtesy._

"Your turn," he said.

"My lord should tell me what he wishes to hear."

Sansa had peeled away the rest of the orange. Its insides were soft and smooth to touch and its frailty almost made her want to smash it on the table.

She looked at Tyrion Lannister again and his mismatched eyes were probing her once more. She waited for his response and when he smirked a little and asked, "Tell me about your dream wedding then." Her stomach wanted to burst.

She placed the orange on the table, keeping her eyes on it as she answered. Tell him a lie. "I pray for the glorious day I will see my beloved Joffrey in the Sept of Baelor and pledge my eternal love and devotion for him in the sight of the gods."

"Is that what you pray for in Godswood every night then? That Joffrey will put a ring in your finger and own you forever? That he will be the one person in the world you will lie in bed with and wake up to?"

Sansa could hear the disbelief in his voice and she didn't know how to react to that. To neutralize the conversation, she found her voice and asked him.  
"And what of your dream wedding, my lord?"

That took him aback but he recovered fast, laughing. Sansa remembered the first time she heard him laugh back at Winterfell. When she thought of home, she tore her gaze away from the orange and tried to think of something else before her eyes could water.

He had gotten quiet afterwards. He picked up a goblet from the table and stared down at it for a very long moment as if he was waiting for wine to appear.

When he answered, he wasn't looking at anything else but that goblet.

"Just a quiet place with only heaven and earth to bear witness," his voice was oddly calm. "I will be standing with someone who loves me."

Sansa could hear Queen Cersei inside her head.

_Do you want to be loved, Sansa?_

_Everyone wants to be loved, she said._

"That's all I want." Tyrion Lannister turned to look at her now, his mismatched eyes reeling her in. "Everyone wants to be loved."

Their gazes lingered on each other for what seemed like forever. Sansa could hardly breathe as she now felt the sting of tears. He watched her thoughtfully and opened his mouth to say something else but stopped himself. He must have realized that there was no need for words this time. As she cried softly, he climbed down the chair and walked to her. He reached out his hand again and rested it upon her shoulder. He didn't smile but his mismatched eyes, sad and knowing, held so much warmth she hadn't recognized until now.

"I thank you for the kindness," she said and meant it for the first time.

"Your handmaids will escort you back to your chambers then."

He motioned towards the door and his squire entered and helped her to stand. They went out of the room together and two of her handmaids were already waiting outside. As soon as she reached the threshold, she risked a glance behind her where the door was still open.

Tyrion Lannister watched her.

The sight of him made her chest twinge.

* * *

Robb gathered yellow flowers before he left and had strewn them in her hair as he said goodbye. "The South will do you good, sister," he said, rubbing a gloved hand on her cheek.

"Will you come to see me off?"

"I have to watch for Bran and mother." He kissed her forehead. "I'll follow you as soon I'm able."

Sansa waved at him as he walked back inside the castle. Septa Mordane reached a hand to help her up the carriage.

Before she climbed up, she saw Tyrion Lannister grabbing the ropes of his horse. The animal bent down slightly as he stepped onto to the footstool to lift himself up. He managed to get on top of the horse by putting one foot on the stirrup and rising up quickly to the saddle while his other foot found the other stirrup to step on. It was not the most graceful thing to watch but once he was sitting atop, he looked like he belonged there.

On horseback, he towered over everyone else.

* * *

_"We don't go breaking down. I feel like nothing ever will" ~Tourist, _Athlete


	2. Family Duty Honor

A/N:_ I think there was always a magnetic pull between Tyrion and Sansa even before they knew it themselves. I also believe they have the same heart. When I was reading _A Clash of Kings_ and they interacted for the first time, I was happy for no discernible reason except that they were my most favorite characters of the series. And then I discovered that they have so much desires in common and their personalities complement each other well. I truly hope anyone who takes the time to read this story will see that too. This is my tribute to their individual characters and them as a possible couple :)_

_I would like to thank **TheLastPhenom **as my beta._

**Reviews are very much appreciated :D**

* * *

**Family. Duty. Honor**

* * *

The queen regent told her one dreary morning while they were breaking fast that Sansa needed a tighter bodice to outline the new shape of her body. Cersei Lannister had been doting over her for two days now since her first flowering. "A maroon visage with golden laces," the lioness proclaimed. "The curls of your hair would look like orange flames behind your back." Cersei Lannister regarded her languidly behind the goblet she placed close to her face. "Nothing would please Joffrey more than to see his bride on fire and draped in blood."

Sansa has lost her appetite but finished her food until her throat hurt.

The very same afternoon, her handmaids and a seamstress graced her chambers with garments of the lioness' liking. She stood at the center of her room with only her pink smallclothes on as the women wrapped her in several fabrics until they found the right combination. Sansa had to stand absolutely still and quiet as the seamstress weaved. She watched her through the looking-glass in front of them and it occurred to Sansa that she was peculiarly excited about this. She thought about Lady Catelyn, her mother, and how she liked to dress Sansa in blue and green cotton robes underneath the finest white wools. She would personally knit a direwolf sigil in gray threads across the breast of her left side where Sansa's heart is close to, so that she will always remember that love lies strongest in the blood.

It took two hours to finish the new gown but Sansa never moved an inch. A lady always maintains her posture especially at times she doesn't want to. She remembered her lessons well.

When it was all over, she glanced straight at the looking-glass and her reflection devastated and endeared her in the most confusing manner.

"You are beautiful, Lady Stark." It was Shae, the handmaid she favored most, who spoke up when the others were simply too astounded by her.

Sansa gave her a genuine smile. _I had always been beautiful._ Her face fell soon after._ In a coat of gold and red, she thought, I will bear Joffrey as many cubs as the queen regent demands of me._ She turned away from the looking-glass then and felt the bars of the cage closing in further.

When she turned around, she forgot her balance and her foot stepped on the hem of her new robes and she stumbled into the arms of no other than the sellsword they called Bronn, the captain of Tyrion Lannister's personal guards. She immediately tried to push herself away from his grasp and he didn't hold on that long either.

"The Hand requests your presence, little Lady." He said with that awful glint in his black eyes more pronounced than ever. It made his gaunt face look even more ghoulish. "Allow me to escort you to his chambers." He placed a hand on the tilt of his sword on his right side and she did not trust him any better for that.

"I will come with her," Shae told Bronn and the two of them eyed each other with a familiarity that puzzled Sansa.

She found her voice at last. "Stay here. The Hand wants me to come alone, does he not?" she addressed the sellsword guard.

"Aye, little Lady." He grinned.

_I am not a child. You are looking at a woman flowered_, she wanted to say but she kept silent and followed him outside, leaving Shae and her other handmaids behind. As she walked in her maroon robes weaved with golden laces, the texture of the fabric—as well as the sensation of blood surging between her legs—made her stronger and more vulnerable than before.

* * *

The Tower of the Hand was not a homely place to find oneself in but there was heat in the hearth of the fireplace close to the nearest window where Tyrion Lannister sat, his attention focused on a thick book above his lap. He looked like a child still learning to read in this distance but as she got closer, he reminded her more of the sage maesters her father talked about once, buried in their studies of history and warfare. That certain air of cunning bundled in such a small stature—she feared that about him more than anything else.

He didn't even look up as he spoke to her. "It's been a tiring week for you. You survived that ugly business of the street riot days before. You endured my loving nephew's brutal show of affections—and now, as I'm informed," he closed the book and finally met her gaze, "you're coping with the very first visit of your moon blood."

The topic had caught her off-guard and she colored deeply. Not only that, but he has also noticed the state of her dress and was openly gazing at her from head to foot. Tyrion Lannister cleared his throat and continued. "I wanted to dine with you and my sister tonight. As for the children," he meant Tommen and Myrcella, "they will grace your beloved Joffrey with their presence on his table. I spoke to Cersei about this and she was more than happy to accommodate." He paused. "And by that, I meant she almost slapped me before agreeing to bear through such an awkward ordeal." He looked pleased about that.

Sansa said nothing. She interlaced her fingers together and just listened.

"I brought you here to ask for your food preferences for tonight." Tyrion Lannister walked towards his bed and placed the book down on the lavender sheets. She found it an odd choice for bedcovers, especially when she noticed the sunflowers on them. He followed her gaze and chuckled. "It's a bargain purchased by Lord Varys as a token for our budding friendship."

Sansa stayed silent. She fiddled her fingers together and watched him.

"It must be uncomfortable for you," he said, "to be dressed like a Lannister."

She blinked at him but still chose to keep her mouth shut.

Tyrion Lannister was determined to break into her shell, however. He walked towards her and brushed his thick, short fingers on the right sleeve of her robes. He caressed it while looking intently into her eyes and it forced her to look down on him as well. It occurred to Sansa, as she towered above him, that other people may perceive his small stature pitiful, but not her. She could see that it gives him more opportunities to deceive and unnerve those he wanted to overthrow. She understands the kind of man he is and she doesn't know how to feel about that—especially not when he's touching her dress like this with that certain glee beholden in his stare. The discomfort from it chilled her bones.

"My lord," she said carefully. "I shall eat whatever pleases you."

"Tell that to my sister. It delights her to see you ever so submissive." He answered, tightening his clutch on her sleeve this time. "You somewhat enjoy being called 'little dove', don't you? That is the sole reason Lannister red is not your color."

_He wants to tell me that I'm powerless_, Sansa thought. "My lord is gracious to say so," she replied, keeping her fingers entwined and her posture straight. Tyrion Lannister laughed then. It was a sound that made her tummy flutter a bit. He regarded her with those sad and knowing eyes again even as he smiled. He pulled his hand away from her sleeve, taking a step back.

"But you are beautiful," he remarked quietly, almost as if it's their secret.

Sansa felt obliged to nod her head. "Is there something else my lord commands of me?"

"Your company," he answered with a dismissive tone but Sansa wondered if he meant something else because of how casual he spoke to her.

"At this moment, my lord?"

"Yes." He pulled himself up the bed and sat facing her. He gestured a hand to the nearest chair and she obliged without a second thought.

"Do you read books, Sansa?" he asked.

"Only those I'm permitted to read and learn from, my lord."

"What sort?"

"Books on manners and duties of ladyship, my lord."

"How about tales of fiction?"

Sansa thought for a moment and then she answered. "Only the ones about songs, my lord." She leaned her back straight and kept her fingers steady on her lap as she spoke.

"The stories that we read tell us a lot about ourselves that are hidden and unknown." Tyrion Lannister explained. "Sometimes I interest myself with books about forgotten stories. Like those of your ancestors, the First Men and the Children of the Forest. Do you recall?"

Sansa nodded. "Our wet nurse knows so much of those and my brothers Bran and Rickon enjoy listening to them…" she trailed off. _Am I beginning to let my guard down with my captor?_ She decided it wise to let him talk. _He can't know what I think…or what I feel._

Tyrion Lannister had of course noticed her silence but he filled the gaps as quickly as she dug them. "Do you know about the adventures of Ser Dunk?"

She shook her head.

"A true, brave knight, that one." He had that wistful look in his face that made her pay closer attention to what he has to say next. "He was deposed from knighthood by the Mad King himself but he fought more gallantly like no other knight and prevented villages from being sacked. He rescued children with no distinction of nobility and birth. He protected women whether they're maidens or whores." Slowly, his hand reached for her knee and it stayed there. She looked down at it as he said. "You would have loved him, Sansa. He was every bit of perfection you've always wanted in a man."

She didn't know what polite thing to say for the first time.

Tyrion Lannister didn't wait for her response. He removed his hand and smiled at her and his mismatched eyes drew her in while he spoke, "I shall see you again at supper, my lady. For now, you can enjoy the company of the other ladies of the court. They knit together in the garden, don't they?" he stood up and grabbed the book beside him. He was already walking towards the window where she found him earlier. Without his permission, Sansa remained seated.

When he turned to find her still there, he chuckled and waved a hand to dismiss her.

"You are always free to go, Sansa." He called out to her once she reached the door. "I will never force you to stay if you would rather leave."

She stopped midway just so she could look back at him. "Yes, my lord. I'm here by my own volition."

He shook his head, smiling in a way that betrayed his disbelief. "Your own volition to be obedient, you mean." He paused. "My fair maiden, I'm not sure how to talk to you sometimes and I was never one to ever fail or stutter in conversations."

Sansa always curtsied when she couldn't answer and there was nothing else to offer. "I will see you later at supper then, Lord Tyrion."

"I expect you to wear whatever you like by then," he said as she stepped outside. "Something that resembles a piece of home, perhaps?"

Sansa didn't turn around this time and closed the door.

* * *

Cersei was already with her second cup of wine before she even took a bite of the seared meat in her plate. Tyrion busied himself by slicing through his own meat, dividing the portions evenly and separating them from the potatoes and vegetables. He never liked the way food would mix together on his plate, so he did his best to keep the distance among them.

"Where is my little dove?" his sister asked, growing restless. "Her tardiness will be taken note of. She is not one to be careless of time, obedient wench that she is."

"Should I tell the squires to measure the wine they put in your cup?" Tyrion suggested. "Perhaps in doing so, you'll learn to govern the temper that comes with your consumption?"

"Don't concern yourself with matters above you, dear little brother."

"Only things that are beneath you interest me greatly." Tyrion stabbed his food and placed it his mouth, chewing slowly as he savored the taste. He smiled at Cersei.

Cersei raised her goblet at him. "You are enjoying this, you ugly little fuck."

"You didn't wait for dessert before you can degrade me." He remarked. "That's a new low to maintain." He raised his goblet to her as well and they drank together.

It was in the middle of this short quibble when Sansa Stark appeared. She was still dressed the same but as she sat at the edge of the table, strategically placed between him and Cersei, they both took notice of the blue sash knitted with sunflowers that she wore on her head. She has granted my request and made her own choice this time, Tyrion thought, and he fought the urge to laugh at his sister's face when he saw how much Cersei hated it.

"A pretty thing," his sister remarked with all kinds of bitterness. "Did you make it yourself this afternoon?"

"Yes, Your Grace," the Stark girl answered, keeping her hands steady as she gripped her fork and knife "I thought Joffrey would join us and I wanted to please him."

Tyrion tried not to choke on his potatoes. She knew well that it's only going to be the three of them, but Cersei didn't know Tyrion had informed Sansa about that.

"It would have pleased him, no doubt," Cersei smiled through her displeasure and gazed at Tyrion. "But his uncle insisted that we dine without him because I believe Tyrion here wants to get to know you better. Perhaps to ensure that you are a suited bride for Joffrey."

"And we are only thinking of our king's best interests." Tyrion added.

Cersei widened her smile but Tyrion noticed that her knife was slightly raised from her plate. He batted his eyelashes at her and turned to Sansa this time. He tried not to get distracted with how incomprehensively lovely she is with the crown of sunshine in her hair.

"I've arranged for two septas for you. One will teach you dance and music while the other on coin and arithmetic," he brought that issue up so naturally that he could hear Cersei screaming of disapproval in her head. He ignored his sister and went on. "Your mornings will be about your education on money matters that will equip you to run a proper household while the rest of your afternoon will be filled with songs…" he couldn't help but smile, both for Sansa's benefit and the other to spite Cersei from where she sat.

On cue, Sansa Stark replied. "You are very thoughtful, my lord."

"Isn't he just so? It makes you wonder why there are so many who call him lecherous to his face," Cersei intervened. "And whisper him as a cursed, wretched fool behind his back."

"You have an enduring gift for subtleties and tact, sweet sister."

"And your display of fondness for your future niece-in-law might be considered scandalous." Cersei gestured a hand to one of the squires and her goblet was filled again.

Tyrion drummed his fingers on the table. He always does that when he stalls or feels confronted. This time it's both. "I've sent Lord Baelish to the Stark camp and will receive good news of his progress on the morrow."

That caught his sister's attention. "And since when had the Hand conspired with the puppeteer?"

"It was of personal, family matter."

Cersei's expression changed and she turned into a softer woman Tyrion only saw glimpses of in the past. "Have you received any developments about Jaime's situation then?"

"I had Lord Baelish deliver Eddard Stark's bones in good faith." Tyrion replied. "Unlike you, Lady Catelyn is a woman with a great capacity for forgiveness once you've proven that you are worthy of the esteem. She may consider an exchange of prisoners." He glanced at Sansa briefly but she was silently chewing on her food, not looking at either of them.

"And what of his head?"

Tyrion looked back at his sister. "I'm sorry?"

"Ned Stark's head." She remarked as she playfully scratched her plate with the fork. "It's a valuable piece of ornament my son adores. Did you give that away too?"

With the corner of his eye, Tyrion could see that Sansa was calmly slicing at her meat as if she is deaf to this whole conversation. He didn't care to address her when he answered Cersei. "There was little left to give back. The birds have…it was only a semblance of a man's head by now." He had gotten quiet then, intensely aware that this was killing the Stark girl far more than he could imagine. He wanted to reach and squeeze her hand but fought the urge.

"Good," Cersei smiled and turned to Sansa now. "It would have been a shame if you have given that away since Sansa likes to visit that part of the castle sometimes."

_Oh gods…_Tyrion bit his tongue as he looked at Sansa.

"One of your handmaids told me that you would watch it as it rested on the perch of the high walls, and probably praying for his head to attach itself to his body once more," Cersei leaned in, the cruelty in her expression and voice beginning to remind him of her son's.

It was the very first time in years that Tyrion wanted to empty the wine in his cup by splashing it across his wicked sister's face, but his hand remained in place when Sansa answered.

"I only wish to be reminded of my father's treason so that I will not mirror his example and displease you, Your Grace." She said softly as she met Cersei's gaze.

_If she can hold back, then I should trust in her strength and keep my cool._

"That's quite commendable of you, my lady." Tyrion remarked.

"Yes, little dove," Cersei placed her hand above Sansa's. "We all aspire to be as loyal and devoted as you are in spite being a traitor's spawn." Leaning closer, she pecked Sansa's cheek. And then with merciless precision, Cersei gently removed the sash of sunflowers on Sansa's hair and let it fall to the ground. None of them said anything. Tyrion watched the whole scene unfold in front of him in begrudging helplessness and then washed the bitter aftertaste that came with it with his wine. He gulped down everything.

Cersei poured Sansa's cup. "Let us have a toast to the future of your happy marriage with my son and the prosperous life of a queen that you will have soon."

"I am honored to be loved by His Grace." Sansa Stark answered.

Both women lifted their goblets and drank the sweet poison of their lies.

* * *

Sansa was in a hurry to get back to her chambers and rely on sleep to help her forget everything that has happened in that supper. She felt every part of her body quivering as she trudged in the hallway, gripping her skirts up so she won't fall.

"My dear lady!" It was Tyrion Lannister and she almost wanted to run off when she heard him call out. But she remembered her lessons in courtesy well so she stopped and turned to greet him. Her voice sounded strange to her as she tells him that she had a lovely evening with him and the queen regent. She told him she wanted to sup with them whenever it's convenient for the both of them. "It would please me to please my lord and Her Grace…"

It was then with that last statement that the words got caught in her throat, and before her eyes could leak, she turned her heels and was almost about to run away when Tyrion Lannister caught her wrist. She wanted to kick and shout and hit him then. Or fall to the ground and hug herself as she cries. Sansa shoved these feelings away. A lady always maintains her posture especially at times she doesn't want to. She steadied herself as she faced him.

He looked smaller than she remembered, and it was probably because she had never seen him so sad before. His mismatched eyes were slightly moist. She shuddered at this. His fingers found hers and he squeezed.

At first he just stared up at her and she felt ashamed and vulnerable. There was nothing else to say to him now, polite or otherwise. Even if she didn't hold his hand back, she didn't pull away either. Sansa stayed there as he dismantled her with his compassion.

"I want you to come to me, Sansa, when you're at your limit," he began. "I want to have a piece of your sorrow and share your grief. I may not be able to carry you all the way through but…" he looked down at their hands entwined together. "At least tell me what is in your heart even when it's the worst time to be honest. I will not mock you or put you in harm's way."

Sansa wanted to take her hand away from his grip but felt scared to do so. He looked at her like she's the most breakable thing in the world and it's destroying her.

"I will be your friend from now on," Tyrion Lannister went on.

_I will love you,_ she heard that in his tone. She couldn't feel anything.

"My lord…is too kind." Sansa managed to respond as she loosened his hold on her with her other hand, but Tyrion Lannister easily let go at last.

"It is not mere kindness that compels me, my lady." He answered. "I feel…obliged to keep you safe from whatever havoc my family..."  
The more Sansa wanted to run away from him, the more she felt the need to stay. "I thank you for the kindness just the same, my lord."

She paused. "Tyrion." The sound of his name on her mouth felt strangely liberating…but wrong. It didn't please him either. She could see the way his expression darkened and how he shifted his eyes to the side as he replied.

"I will call for you again on the morrow to discuss about your lessons with the septas. For now, you must retire to bed."

Sansa curtsied and closed her eyes slightly when she did. As soon as she was upright again, Tyrion Lannister was already walking away, dragging his short legs beneath him. She gathered her skirts and turned to the opposite direction.

She listened to the way their footsteps resonated until the sound of her own was all that was left.

* * *

_"I'm miles from where you are. I pray that someone picks me up and sets me down in your warm arms" ~Set the fire to the third bar,_ Snow Patrol


	3. Growing Strong

_A/N: Peter Dinklage and Sophie Turner seem to share a good deal amount of chemistry on screen to pull this off. I'm very happy for the affirmative reviews as well. Thank you for reading my story, and for sympathizing with Sansa and Tyrion and their eventual friendship/romance._

_I would like to thank __**TheLastPhenom**__ as my beta._

**Reviews are very much appreciated.**

* * *

**Growing Strong**

* * *

Tyrion woke up the next morning thinking about what he could do to lessen Sansa Stark's pain for today. He remembered that he had to later meet the septas he arranged her lessons with for her. He barely slept, and when he finally had, he found himself leaning against the window where he was almost finished with the book he'd been reading. As he looked across the sun approaching the sky, it occurred to him how disconcerting it was that he'd been thinking too much of Sansa Stark lately.

_Her luminescent winter-skin. _

_The way her hair burned when the light touches it._

_Those devastating eyes._

He tossed the book aside and pressed his palm on his forehead, sighing from the depths of exhaustion and defeat.

_The cuts on her lips._

_Her false courtesies._

_Her youth._

Kicking his legs underneath him, he let his bare feet touch the frigid floor. He didn't rush standing up. It's always been a great struggle to move his legs and thighs properly especially when he's sitting on high places like this. But Tyrion liked the exercise. He enjoyed the challenge. It brought him some joy, shallow it may be, to overcome the littlest of hurdles along with his handicap. As soon as he was able, he walked to his bed and realized he still wanted to rest. As he contemplated whether or not to give in, his fingers found the sunflowers in his bed covers and he caressed them absentmindedly.

He wanted to touch her again. He couldn't stop thinking about the last time she held his hand two days ago. Or the way she looked at him when he described his dream wedding…

What was that in her eyes he saw then?

Tyrion felt stupid now. He brushed off whatever convoluted fantasies he may have for the child. He already felt repulsive enough.

His squire Podrick entered his chambers as soon as he removed his garments and stepped out of them. The boy was accustomed to this and neither commented on his nudity. Pod brought a tray of food and Tyrion enjoyed the smell of burnt bacon and fish in the morning more than anything so as soon as he put on new robes, he happily sat on the table and ate.

"My lord, you have a message."

"What does it say?" Tyrion had been teaching the boy to read for three months now, at least twice every four days. He likes to listen to someone read to him sometimes, most probably because he wanted it to make up for all the bedtime stories he was never read to as a child.

"The lady Sansa writes 'Thank you for the supper and the kindness. I would very much like to read about Ser Dunk.' One of the handmaids brought it up last night, my lord."

Tyrion stopped chewing his bacon as soon as he heard the girl's name. He managed to take a sip from his wine and swallowed.

_She called me by my name last night too. Is this her way of reaching out?_

"Get me a parchment and quill."

Podrick handed them to him and watched Tyrion as he writes.

_'Perhaps tonight I could lend you the book? Come alone to my chambers and we'll talk. I hope you can make time. I truly meant to be your friend, my lady.'_

Almost nervously, Tyrion wrapped the parchment using a blue ribbon he found pressed between his other books. He gave it to Pod and told him to invite in the septas an hour from now once he's fully dressed to accept. His squire took the letter and immediately left.

Tyrion was alone again.

What could he possibly achieve, seeking out her friendship like this or anything that resembled her favor, faint and reluctant as she already was so far? He specified that she should come alone to his chambers, perhaps thinking that in doing so it will prevent her from speaking to Shae about it—his whore—and it would not be more uncomfortable than it already is. But Tyrion should not lie to himself and deny that he thinks that her acceptance of this tryst—no, it should not be referred to as such—is somewhat her own way of inviting him to her own guarded chambers of the mind. He would not dare entertain that impure thought. But here he was, indulging that hope as he abandoned his now unfinished breakfast to pick up that prized volume of book the lady Sansa wished to read, the manuscript of the unsung hero he idolized as much as he did Jaime. It was heavy as it has always been from the moment he came across it not long ago, and the weight reminded him of his own smallness, which then seizes him with a weakness he resented. It was the kind that takes over every time he's in the presence of anything larger than him. It never got any easier for Tyrion to convince himself that he is a man, not when surrounded by knights in armor and high lords. Not when his feet pained him every time he climbed the stairs. Tyrion smirked to himself this time, and despite the ugliness of his life. Being a dwarf was finally perfectly acceptable for now. He should never forget what he was.

But he still wanted to be more than that in the eyes of a woman.

He hummed to himself for a while, pushing the self-hating doubts to a corner as he browsed through the tattered, yellowed pages, his eyes quickly scanning through his favorite passages. He smiled as he read the vulgarities of chivalry, the purity of impropriety. He enjoyed the almost coquettish way Ser Dunk would lure in his enemies before he stabs them in the name of the seven; how he would curse at the Mad King, and try and try and try to redeem the kingdom he tyrannized over. Tyrion closed the book, feeling foolish for having these childish imaginings that are unbecoming of a Lannister. But it would be perfect for a Stark. There is always a place for dreams in a house of honor. And Sansa Stark—with the bruises on her legs, the knife wounds on her wrists—she would love Ser Dunk too.

* * *

The septas were maiden and crone, Tyrion thought in quiet amusement. Septa Loraine was a thin wisp of a woman yet everything about her protruded sharply even in her loose gray garments. They draped on her body like curtains, concealing everything but her face, which was grave and wrinkled but not entirely incapable of expressions of kindness.

"The wages vary, my good lord," Septa Loraine spoke, "it depends on the frequency of the lessons, and the results procured from them."

"Fantastic," he answered. "I want Sansa Stark to continue her formal education. Her youth should not be wasted on idle things. In fact, she doesn't even do much at all since her stay."

"The Red Keep is a spacious castle. There are not enough productive things to entertain a lady indeed," Septa Loraine kept her hands on her lap and she sat with her back straight. Her stillness impressed him as she went on. "The lady Sansa needs lessons again, that I am most certain of, and it's noble of you that you took it upon yourself to reinforce that."

She regarded Tyrion with a formality tinged with sympathy although Tyrion could surmise that she would not dare pity him. He may be an imp but he's still rich, and wealth has been a compensation she recognizes to be his shield from most things. There was an immediate understanding between them, unspoken as it was natural, that Tyrion even considered being friendlier to her if she took good care of Sansa Stark as he required her to do.

"She is a guest of honor after all," Tyrion remarked, lightly tapping his spoon on the teacup. Septa Loraine only had to look at that movement and then back at him. That bearably discernible glance was already enough to make Tyrion stopped the tapping. He grinned at her then, adjusting his position from the seat so he could sit up straight as well.

"Does the lady Sansa know any instrument?" The younger septa asked.

"I have not asked," Tyrion replied. "I will do so tonight."

Septa Coral was obviously the music teacher. She's about seven years older than Sansa Stark with a noticeably shapely figure and bright blue eyes. Tyrion wondered if she had dark hair like Shae underneath her veil or perhaps a halo of golden girls like Cersei when her sister was younger. As he met the beautiful septa's eyes again, he imagined that she had auburn hair a shade darker than Sansa Stark's. He felt suddenly uncomfortable with that musing so he cleared his throat and said, "Arithmetic is always fun, isn't it? I hope that Lady Sansa may think so."

Whether or not Septa Loraine recognized the sardonic implication of his statement, she didn't show as she answered him. "The lady manages the household of her lord husband. She must see to it that she can do more than count the basics and therefore must be well-versed with mathematics. It is a language that will train her mind since high-born women are not equipped to train with swords." She gently reached out for her cup of tea. She didn't raise it to drink from it, however. Instead she turned the cup so that the handle was facing left. She then placed her palm on top of it, as if she's measuring the heat with her skin.

"The progress of her learning depends on how intuitive and open Lady Stark will be with her lessons."

Tyrion watched her hand for a while before he answered. "She is very proper, you know. It's almost painful to watch that in action, and it also makes it more difficult to communicate with her."

He did not mean to be so tactless about that so he took a long pause, leaving the words scattered in the air around the three of them, wondering if either of the septas will collect the words and put them together in a different context. Fortunately, Septa Coral simply changed the subject and said. "I play percussion and string well, my lord. I plan to start our lessons with dance and so I'd like to inquire what dances she has learned so far."

He nodded. "Yes, I'll ask about that too, septa."

Septa Loraine finally raised her cup but she still didn't drink it. Her whole arm was steady as she held it on the level of her chest. "Where do we conduct these lessons then? Both require a private room."

"And a private room you shall get." Tyrion flicked his fingers together and Pod appeared from behind. "You can make all other arrangements to your liking and we start the lessons officially by morrow, I suppose."

"There are only a few things we wish to discuss with you first," Septa Loraine interjected, still holding the cup of tea so steady that Tyrion feared it might already be an illusion.

"Then let's discuss." He waved Podrick away and his squire left.

It was Septa Coral who spoke now. She interlaced her fingers together, probably so she wouldn't do anything else with them. She hds a nervous disposition.

Tyrion could tell this by how often she blinks when she is speaking. "We were made aware of the living conditions the lady Sansa is subjected to."

"Who made you aware of that?"

"You, my lord," Septa Loraine smiled at him but it held no warmth.

"And what seemed to give it away?"

"Through certain things that slip from your perfect mask, my lord Lannister," she finally took a sip from her tea. She did not show whether or not she liked the taste as she held the cup on the level of her chest again. "Your concern for her welfare is one. But it's the way you talk about her mostly that tells me there is more to this arrangement than you lead us on."

Tyrion did not particularly enjoy being an open book but he still found it considerably flattering when someone could read him so easily.

"We would not dare speak ill of the lady's…engagement to the king," Septa Coral added, lowering her tone into a near whisper. "It is no secret, my lord, that he…his knights ritually beat her senseless…don't they?"

Tyrion heard her perfectly loud and clear but he guarded his tongue. They might be women of cloth but they haven't earned his trust yet. He knew that Septa

Loraine sensed this but it struck him that she is not a woman so easy to dissuade. She placed the cup of tea back to the saucer with a measured calmness.

"A week ago, a handmaid came to the Baelor temple, seeking herbal remedies and at least a yard long of bandage," her voice never fluctuated once as she went on, "She also asked for an antiseptic, claiming that the wounds are deep and cannot clot fast enough for bandaging. They had to keep it open for a few hours then. Rubbing antiseptic on them prevents infection, as you may know." As soon as she paused, Septa Coral grabbed her own cup of tea and gulped down hard. Tyrion said nothing. There will be no protestation of ignorance from him. He waited for Septa Loraine to continue. "The septon at that time had to insist on knowing the condition of the injured even when the handmaid refused to disclose the identity." Sansa Stark, Tyrion wanted to scream out. He allowed the septa to go on. "He wants to ensure that the treatment would suffice, of course. The handmaid replied that the wounds are critical but manageable as long as treated with the antiseptic and the herbal remedy she asked for."

_Sansa Stark with knife wounds on her wrists._

Tyrion almost wanted to puke. He stared down at his goblet instead.

"It only occurred to us who it was three days ago," Septa Coral intervened. "That incident at the throne room after Robb Stark seized a legion of the king's army, where King Joffrey had her displayed in the court and…one of his knights…" she could not finish and Tyrion was glad of it.

"You were there, my lord Lannister," Septa Loraine regarded him icily this time. "And you had rescued her, true, but since you sit here across us now, I conclude that you know as much as we do that your act of graciousness does not spare you from the wickedness your own blood inflicts on her."

She bore holes through him. "And this is your way to repent, is it not?"

He couldn't guard his tongue any longer. "I'm not doing this for forgiveness or for my frail-minded, insipid nephew." They've been speaking frankly now so he did not see the point of courtesies. It's time to call the monster as it is. "I'm doing this because…"_ I want her, child or woman or whatever she is_. Tyrion tried to come up with something else to disguise the truth, "because I must. She needs protection."_ I want her to come to me willingly_. "And I'm the only one who can provide it."_ I want to comfort her, to make her laugh._ "She is to marry Joffrey, an unfortunate covenant I cannot intercede because it is beyond my power. But what I can control is to ease the blows she receives from Joffrey at every chance I get. She deserves that at least, and I am begging that you will aid me in improving her conditions."

It was Septa Coral who answered immediately. "Yes, my lord, whatever we can do for the poor girl."

"She's not a girl," Septa Loraine interjected. "A lady from a house of honor is more dignified than any of us will ever be."

Tyrion could feel a migraine taking over. He knit his eyebrows together and pushed himself from the table. "You will use the spare room across my chambers. It's spacious enough but also obscure from disturbance outside."

The septas stood up as well and bowed to him. Septa Coral said, "We thank you for the hospitality and warmth, Lord Tyrion."

"On the morrow, I hope to see you, Septa Loraine." Tyrion asked as he grabbed the goblet from the table and twirled it around his fingers.

The older septa nodded stiffly but did not utter another word to him as she walked behind Septa Coral towards the door. Tyrion watched them from where he stood and waited for them to close the door.

As soon as he was alone, he took a sip from his wine and then emptied his goblet on one of the luxurious rags. He watched as the fluid dripped into the surface and spread across the cloth, its color a sharp outline beneath him. A stain staring at him like a gaping hole soaked in red—

—_knife wounds_.

* * *

It wasn't Ser Meryn who struck her first this time. It was Ser Filmorr and his backhanded slap forced her crashing to the ground. Her new gown was too long and she struggled not to trip on it by the time the next blow landed on her stomach. There was no wall she could lean on or to help her stand so Sansa had to pick up herself by pushing her hands to the ground and lifting her body slowly. They always waited for her to stand. Joffrey must have commanded them to. The King was sitting atop the cobblestoned stairs near the grand entrance to the throne room. He was helping himself with a slice of orange as he looked on.

The fruit was half-peeled in his palm, its tender insides in view.

"I've missed you at supper last night, my love," he whispered as he pressed his thumbs on the orange and pulled out a piece. Sansa watched as he placed it on his mouth. Every nerve on her body was sensitive to any sensation by now that she could even feel his teeth chewing on the piece of fruit.

"The queen regent and your lord uncle asked for me to sup with them—"

"DO NOT FUCKING TALK BACK!"

Sansa bit down her tongue but Joffrey had nodded towards another knight, Ser Vontil, and he kicked at her chest. It wasn't hard enough to break her ribs but the pain was blinding just as well. She couldn't will herself to stand anymore. But she was still talking. She couldn't understand why.

"I w-w-wanted to see you too, m-my love, t-to, gaze upon your beauty and majesty and sh-sh-share your food and w-w-wine." Her voice was raspy and she was almost salivating as she spoke. It was hard to pronounce the lies when she's trying so hard not to puke out blood.

Joffrey approached her now and she tried not to wince as he knelt down and glared into her face. He raised his hand and squeezed the orange caught between his fingers. "I could cut you up and scatter your parts all over the castle, Stark." He threw the dried up orange across the floor behind her in anger and grabbed a fistful of her hair. She whimpered but did not make a louder sound.

"How about I start ripping through that delicate dress of yours and have my knights grab both your ankles so I could stab my sword Hearteater into your dirty, ugly cunt!" With his hand still on her hair, he shoved her face to the floor and climbed behind her back. His fingers, still sleek with the fruit's juices, began to pull at the laces of her gown.

Sansa did not understand his rage. Didn't the queen regent tell him that she had a valid excuse for her absence? Or was she the one who compelled her son's rough hands to abuse her? All throughout her dark contemplations, she only whimpered. She will not cry out even if her tears have saturated into the stone floor. When she felt the cold air sting her back, she thought about resisting then, but Ser Meryn, Ser Vontil and Ser Filmorr grabbed her arms so she will not fight the king.

Joffrey, still sitting on her back and clawing at her spine, kept pulling at the gown. The silk screamed as he tugged and tugged.

When he swept her garments completely off her ankles, he suddenly bit a portion of skin on her nape. Sansa still didn't cry out as she squeezed her eyes shut.

Her body squirmed under the pressure of the king's weight. She felt everything. A thousand sensations and emotions hurled past her head that the pain seemed to travel in several directions at once.

She focused on her wrists first—the wounds might start bleeding again. She looked up and blinked to regain the clarity of her sight. She saw the blank faces of the knights above her as their iron hands clasped around her arms to prevent any kind of movement. She could not see the blood but she knew it was there.

Sansa kicked the air beneath her. It was a desperate action of escape she knew was futile.

And then she heard steel being unsheathed and the horrifying realization occurred to her. Hearteater, she thought. Instinctively, she pressed her thighs together. As soon as she did, her moon blood trickled down her legs. She could feel its sticky ooze like the juices on Joffrey's fingers from the orange fruit.

Sansa was almost about to faint but she willed herself, put every ounce of her strength, in keeping her eyes open and her mind alive.

"Turn her around!" Joffrey demanded.

When her position was shifted, Sansa rose to action then and began to kick at Joffrey. She didn't care if this would worsen his temper because when she met his eyes at this moment, she saw that he was going to kill her. He was truly going to stab his sword into her womb. Sansa kicked again even as Ser Filmorr moved to her legs and grabbed a hold of them.

Something in her snapped and she howled. The piercing sound escaped her throat and vibrated across the empty halls.

_A wolf's call_, she thought at the back of her head. It was the sound that her sister Arya used to imitate every time she ran off to the moors as Sansa chased her. Arya and her bad posture, unwashed feet and big doe-eyes; the way she puts her hands on the side of her mouth and howls, all unlady-like. Sansa reached her though, and they collapsed on the grass together, laughing.

She heard Joffrey laughing now.

"Look how pathetic she is, a little bird flapping her broken wings!"

_I am not a little bird. I am a Stark._

Sansa didn't know where her strength was coming from but she glared hard at Joffrey and shouted at him. "YOU WILL NOT BREAK ME!"

He was taken aback that he just stared at her for a few seconds. When he recovered, he raised Hearteater with the hilt of the sword on his eye level more deliberately than before. He was getting ready to plunge. Sansa did not close her eyes. She will watch him bring that sword down on her like the executioner did when he chopped off her father's head.

And Sansa will look into the monster's eyes this time.

* * *

It was the Hound who was running towards him as soon as Tyrion heard the scream. He was also running by then so he could meet the Hound halfway.

"The King has crossed a line he can never go back from," was what the Hound said as the two of them ran towards the source of the noise. Tyrion knew that Bronn and two of the Stormcrows were in pursuit as well.

The Hound moved ahead and turned to a corner that Tyrion recognized was the entrance to the throne room. As soon as he reached the corner, his whole body went numb at the sight of the atrocity. It was quickly followed by a strong surge of fury that boiled his veins and compelled him to move towards his little shit of a nephew, the incest spawn, and tackle him by the legs before he could kill Sansa Stark. He saw flashes of movements from the other men but no one held him back which meant that Bronn and the other Stormcrows got everything else under control.

But these were all afterthoughts. The moment they fell to the ground together, Tyrion was punching Joffrey everywhere. He wanted to pound this useless piece of space into nothingness and he didn't stop until Bronn pulled him away. He didn't care to see the result of his violence and immediately rushed to Sansa Stark.

The child was naked except for her smallclothes. She lay there, her wrists exposed, bleeding. There were stains of dried blood on her calves. She just lay there, staring above. Tyrion's eyes settled into her belly and he flinched and turned away when he saw that she was bleeding between her thighs as well.

Her red flower was still blooming. This made Tyrion want to hit Joffrey again but the Hound placed himself between them. He was still the captain of the personal guard. It was still his duty to protect the king. But when Tyrion met Clegane's eyes he saw there was anger and frustration in them too. He shouted at one of the Stormcrows to get the handmaids.

"My lady, my lady, shh, look at me…" he cupped her face between his hands. He was kneeling very close to her as he helped her sit up. As their eyes met, there was no one there looking back at him at all.

It was so easy to take her into his arms now, to pull her close and carry her away from the chaos of both their lives. But he did not dare it. He will not invade the holes like a parasite. That will make him worse than Joffrey.

Tyrion took her wrists with his hands and inspected them. "I'm so sorry," he muttered, "I'm very, very sorry…"

He didn't want to puke anymore. Tyrion wanted to cry instead.

He didn't notice the handmaids were already there until Shae gently placed a hand on her shoulder and whispered into his ear. "Let me take care of this, little lion." He nodded, but not truly understanding, as Bronn took his arm and helped him up to his feet. Shae and the other handmaids were helping Sansa as she struggled to walk in a steady pace, while Tyrion followed closely behind.

"You injured him pretty badly, Imp." Bronn was speaking.

Tyrion looked at where the sellsword was pointing his thumb at and saw Ser Meryn and the other two knights, all of them wounded, trailing behind the Hound who carried Joffrey in his arms. Cold dread crept into Tyrion's nerves. He would have to convince Cersei not to have him thrown off a cliff so he opted to go straight to her chambers now to appease her quickly.

"Where do you want us?" Bronn called out.

"The Stormcrows should be outside my sister's door," he answered, measuring every step. "You come inside with me in case she slits my throat."

* * *

He ducked away in time as Cersei smashed the vase into the opposite wall. Hysteria was a natural motherly reaction when one's son got beaten up by a brother one had always hated. Tyrion was not terrified of this, but rather in what comes after when she finally calms down and decides to retaliate in a crueler way.

"You are a monster!" she spat out and picked up the goblet this time and threw it at him with the same force as before.

Tyrion shielded himself by covering his face with his arms up, and the goblet scraped his elbows. He did not ask for Bronn's help just yet so the sellsword stayed on the far corner, awaiting directions and probably amusing himself with this confrontation. As his sister tried to look for other items to injure him with, he reasoned out. "I am not the monster here, Cersei! Your son has Sansa Stark punched and kicked around by his guards almost every day and today he tried to…" he was unable to finish the sentence because he was still trying to swallow his own anger.

Lord Varys was present, probably as counsel to Cersei and he did just that. His languid hands soothed his sister's shoulders, as if his compassion was sincere. He exchanged glances with Tyrion as he spoke to Cersei. "Your Grace, these are very upsetting circumstances, I agree—"

"He almost killed my son!"

"And His Grace almost killed the Stark girl as well—"

"Fuck Sansa! I should have put her head myself next to her father's!"

"And what of Ser Jaime, Your Grace? Please do not be hasty when it comes to such matters. If it's your heart that governs you then remember where it lies…" Lord Varys lowered his lips to Cersei's ear. "And does your heart not lie in seeing your twin brother alive and well again?"

Tyrion watched in silence as the spider's words took effect on his sister. Cersei's jaw relaxed and she now breathed in and out of her nostrils as calmly as she could. She was still unable to look at Tyrion as Lord Varys patted her back, consoling her by saying, "Joffrey will recover. His bruises will heal. The lady Sansa's injuries on the other hand—they're deeper than the skin by now."

"I do not care," his sister replied.

"Yes, but to successfully exchange our prisoner with theirs, we must ensure we return her in one piece." Lord Varys reasoned out. "Lest Robb Stark decide to abuse Ser Jaime in the same way the king abused his sister."

Cersei snapped her head towards the spider. "He would not dare…"

"The most heinous things ever committed have all been for the sake of love or family. Your Grace understands that more than anybody, I hope." Lord Varys nodded towards Tyrion's direction as if to say he has done his role, now it's time for him to show his cards. He took five steps closer to his sister. He felt Bronn walking behind him as well and expected that the sellsword will defend him in case Cersei decides to do something unthinkable. But his sister just stood there, looking at the ground, deep in thought. He could usually predict how she thinks under the circumstances to which he has control over, but the odds of this situation were not in his favor.

"Cersei," he spoke up, cautiously approaching her as she remained motionless. "I'm terribly sorry that I…hit him like that."

"You hit him so many times…" his sister's voice was mild.

"Have you seen Sansa Stark? Your son thinks her body is a canvass he can leave marks on whenever it pleases him. There are wounds in her wrists that wouldn't heal…the flesh is…" Tyrion tried not to imagine them again as he went on. "Her legs have purple smudges, bruising darkly and leaving ugly imprints." He paused, risking another step. Cersei still wouldn't look at him. "And her back—did you know he had her whipped once?" His voice faltered at the last statement and he was afraid that his eyes might just tear up. He stopped himself.

Cersei's silence was irritating him now so he added. "She will be his wife and she will be dutiful. Joffrey will never be kind to her though. He may just murder her before she could even bear him a son. Cersei, I know that you care just a bit for this girl's welfare…" he trailed off. _Because you were like her once. Please remember…_

"Robert brought the children a kitten once," his sister spoke all of a sudden. "Joffrey played with it for a while. He was eight. And then one day I found it nailed on the back of the kitchen door while I was trying to look for him. I buried the animal myself and threatened everyone who knew not to breathe a word about it to Robert." She looked at Tyrion at last. "But Myrcella told. She loved that kitten. Robert hit Joffrey hard that it almost ripped his cheek apart."

Tyrion stared into his sister's eyes but wished he hadn't. A second passed. And then another. He broke the silence first. "You have to make sure he stays away from Sansa Stark until father arrives to King's Landing. He will know what to do with Joffrey then." He took a step back now.

"My son will be in bed for days after what you did."

Tyrion didn't know exactly what he did but he's glad it somehow crippled Joffrey, which will provide him enough time to figure out a way to end his engagement with the Stark girl.

Cersei cocked her head to the side, her vigor and hatred for him returning now. "Perhaps that was your plan all along, to create a context where you can replace him temporarily on the Iron Throne and govern the matters of the state."

Tyrion opened his mouth. That did not occur to him. He was so consumed with advocating Sansa Stark's rights that it did not cross his mind that he might just have the perfect opportunity to do something about the city's ills.

"I am the queen regent, do not forget, brother." She regained her composure now and sneered at him. "You may sit on the throne for a few days but I will be by your side, and if you ever moved even a grubby toe towards an incitation of rebellion or whatever it is you are scheming about since you've been here…" she smiled now. "Not even father can save you from my wrath. Your debt is coming and you will pay it with whatever price I see fit."

Tyrion tried not to smile back. He had to make Cersei think she has complete authority over this. From behind her, Lord Varys regarded Tyrion with a knowing gaze. He looked at Cersei again and nodded.

"The Hand serves the king and protects the realm on his stead," he replied.

* * *

Sansa didn't want to be touched. She made it perfectly clear by biting one of her handmaids earlier when she tried to dress her wounds. She even refused Shae who insisted to scrub the blood and apply antiseptic on them. Her behavior was unbecoming, she knew that. But Sansa stayed at the corner of her room, wrapped in her bed blankets, regarding every person in front of her suspiciously. Every time one of them tried to get close, she would bare her teeth and snarl.

She was no longer the Sansa whom Lady Catelyn and Septa Mordane raised to be a proper, good girl. Somewhere between the terror and pain, she was transformed into a vicious animal. She would like to believe that the soul of her direwolf Lady has taken possession and this was her vengeance in motion.

As she sat there, naked and bleeding beneath the blanket, it felt like she was experiencing the change separately, as if her mind was a floating entity watching over her body. This must be what madness feels like. You are sliced into two different people and only one of them could survive.

There was that person called Sansa who did everything that was asked of her, who can marry, have children, and live a prosperous life. That was the Sansa who had the capacity to be happy until the lions devoured her whole and spat out this other Sansa. This one was scooped hollow from within and rabid with despair. She was nude. She bled profusely. And she burned with the desire to gnaw people's faces.

After a while, she heard new footsteps and saw that it was Tyrion Lannister. His short legs always wobbled when he walked. His messy blond hair framed his face in the ugliest sort of way, emphasizing the ungodly colors of his mismatched eyes.

She hated him.

"My lady, may I come close?" he asked.

_Yes, come close. I will eat you._

He stayed where he was. He kept talking. "I'm sorry I wasn't able to see you earlier but I came here as soon I can and…oh, Sansa," he took a step. And then another. Somehow this terrified her again and she scooted into a corner and snarled at him. He spoke her name again and it worsened the desire to bite him.

Tyrion was only a few yards away as he fixed his gaze on her. Sansa could see that his mind is working. Abruptly, he turned to everyone else behind him and said. "Leave us. I need time with her alone. Bronn, stay close to the door."

When it was just them left in the room at last, Sansa dared herself to leap at this dwarf and pin him down on the floor. She dared herself to sink her teeth into one of his eyes and tear it out. But something was holding her back, that stupid civility that was her upbringing; it was still the stronger inclination than the primal urge to kill one of the fiends who took everything away from her.

"Stop this," his voice was a whisper. "Stop this at once, Sansa Stark."

He was reprimanding her? Sansa snarled again.

He looked angry now. "I was standing there when I heard you say it. I saw Joffrey raise the sword and I heard it. Don't you remember? Do you remember what you said to Joffrey before he tried to…" he could not go on.

Sansa searched her memory of the event but it ached to recall it.

Tyrion Lannister's face softened now. "Is this going to be the way of things forever? Would I always find you in pieces, with me reaching out—" his hand extended towards her, "—but never able to prevent the worst from happening?"

Sansa did not even consider touching that filthy hand.

He began to approach again, his hand still outstretched. "I'm nothing like the rest of my family, Sansa. I am kind to you because I want to be your friend. I sent you that letter, do you recall? Tonight we are supposed to read Ser Dunk's adventures, that great noble knight from a simpler, happier time."

She tried to block him out but his words overflowed through her.

"You wrote to me first. You thanked my kindness." His rueful eyes were searching for hers. It was hard to look away from them. "You called me by name the night before."

His hand was on her cheek now. The softness of the touch stung so badly that it made her whimper. Tyrion Lannister closed the distance between them, placing his other hand on her shoulder. The fatigue overtook her in an instant. Her head crashed into his chest and she sobbed. The release weakened her so much that she was going to collapse but he held her just in time. She pulled away, shivering and sniveling with her eyes burning because of the tears. With her sight dazed by them, she could only see his face hazily. She could feel the warmth of his breath on her lips.

Tyrion Lannister's kindness was a force that kept crushing her soul until there was nothing left but gratitude and it filled the rest of her senses.  
His arms wrapped protectively around her shoulders as he rested his chin on top of her head. The embrace was uneven because she could barely raise her arms any higher without feeling the sting of the wounds. She still clutched on the blankets as well, more aware of her nakedness now that his small but firm body was pressed against hers. As they stayed entangled, she wondered if she loved him—if she could ever love anyone now—and if this was his own declaration of love for her.

When he pulled away to look into her eyes again, she wondered if he was going to kiss her now, like in the songs when the princess is freed. But Sansa wondered if she even wanted him to kiss her.

For a while, they just stared at each other like that, keenly aware of the intimacy in their gazes and the discomfort that followed. When he leaned closer again,

Sansa closed her eyes but the kiss did not come.

Instead he smiled at her and said. "You are not broken."

Sansa blinked the tears away. She was able to breathe again.

_I am a Stark._

* * *

_"I wake (up) to see that no one is free. We're all fugitives" ~Spies, Coldplay_


	4. As High as Honor

_A/N: So I'm currently writing the fifth chapter. I finished this one last month and have been stuck with other fics since. But now I want to pick this up again, and I want you readers to join me in the writing process. I already selected a sigil as the name of the next chapter, and now I want you to choose which scenes from season 2 you want me to incorporate for the upcoming chapter. I will re-write such a scene in a way that is Sanrion-centric and could fit well with the story. The poll that includes the selections is in my user profile. I hope you can vote. _

___I would like to thank __**TheLastPhenom**__ as my beta._

**Reviews are very much appreciated**

* * *

**As High as Honor**

* * *

Sansa woke up from a nightmare which was worse than the ones she had before. There were ghouls above her, feasting on her body. Their rakish hands were clawing her chest, as if trying to shred her heart from within. She looked to the side, and saw a figure yards away from her. She writhed uncontrollably underneath the savagery happening above her, but her eyes were fixed on the figure.

It was a man. He was kneeling with his head bowed. He whispered something into the air and she recognized that it was a prayer. The man did not look at her as she lay there, but she knew who he was by now and she screamed at him.

"You lied!" Sansa was already gurgling blood but she still screamed at him. "You lied about everything!" The man still did not look at her.

Somehow there were no ghouls pressing down on her anymore so Sansa got up from the ground. She was now holding a sword somehow. She walked toward the man this time, gripping the sword with both hands. She cried out as she brought the blade down the man's neck. The sound pierced through her.

Sansa fell down from the bed, still screaming and sobbing.

"My lady," she heard a voice. She opened her eyes, and tried to breathe normally as she crouched in the corner close to the bed. She glanced to her right and saw Tyrion Lannister kneeling beside her with his hands rubbing the tension in her shoulders. It calmed her a little but there is no amount of comfort he could offer that will heal the wounds in her head. But Sansa still listened as he soothed her. "Nothing is going to harm you, my lady, not here, not ever, not when you're with me…"

Sansa was ready to believe every word if it can keep the nightmares away. She pressed her head on his chest, still weeping. As the minutes passed, she was beginning to regain her composure. She could breathe well again.

She almost forgot that she'd been leaning on him for a while until he spoke up once more. "Would you like something to eat?"

Their proximity, though not completely unwelcomed, embarrassed her. She slowly pulled away and sat up. Her eyelids felt heavy from the tears and the terror that assaulted her. She couldn't speak at first so she only gave him a hesitant nod.

Tyrion Lannister called out to his squire and asked for bread and poultry to be served. He was holding her, still trying his best to calm her. Sansa looked around this time and realized that she wasn't in her chambers.

She moved away from his touch then, regarding him with a questioning gaze. Tyrion Lannister gulped down hard and answered. "I didn't want to leave you alone."

Though she could see he had a point, it was still an invasion of her privacy. She could not be entirely furious about it, however, especially since it was definitely more than kindness that compelled him to rescue her. Something about it made sense to Sansa, but she was still afraid of him. She could never trust a Lannister especially not a cunning one with veiled intentions. But his touch was mild and there was nothing but sympathy and concern in those eyes. Sansa found herself responding to him with a bashful eagerness. He was the only person in this wretched place who goes out of his way to treat her with dignity and compassion after all. But for what purpose?

Sansa was a woman now. Her flower bloomed as she sat there with him. She could not be so naïve this time. It was possible that Tyrion Lannister coveted her. Why else would he go to such trouble just to protect her? But Sansa is not certain of the sincerity of his feelings. As a Lannister, it must all be a part of a great scheme somehow. It's best to be vigilant. She will not make the same mistake twice.

"I apologize if I took you here to my room," he began to explain. "Considering yesterday's events, I have to ensure your safety and welfare and I could only do that if you're always within my sight from now on." He paused to place his hand on her lap. "But I don't want to keep you here if it displeases you. As I've said before, you are free to do whatever you want. I'm not imposing my will on you."

Sansa stared at his face for a while as if she was memorizing every detail. It wasn't that difficult to look at him anymore. Whatever feelings she may have for him are still incomprehensible. She believed his words but was not convinced that there were no motives behind them. And yet if she had a choice, she would prefer to be in his company, knowing that he is not going to abuse her the way Joffrey did. And if she was being entirely honest, Sansa admitted that she liked the way he looked at her; like she was a treasure, the most valuable thing he ever laid eyes on.

Her father used to look at her that way.

Eddard Stark.

The falling axe.

The blood spray on her gown.

Her thighs quivered as she felt her red flower ooze.

Determined to shake herself free from the clutches of the nightmare earlier, Sansa grabbed one of Tyrion Lannister's wrist. She held on, counting her heartbeat until it slowed down. On his part, he kept his other hand on her shoulder, not wanting to disturb her. She had her eyes closed for a while. As soon as she opened them, she was once again surprised by the ease in which the proximity between them remained. He still looked at her with concern and said nothing about the way she held him, not even when she slid her fingers to intertwine with his which escaped her notice until she saw him glance at their hands now pressed together.

They caught each other's gaze and Sansa felt her cheeks burn.

Was she starting to enjoy the attention? Was this something women think about when men are protective of them, when men seek their affections and favor?

Sansa felt confused. She didn't like these feelings. She knew that her growing dependence on him would only weaken her resolve. But relying on his protection would still be a better option than being beaten to death, she supposed.

Sansa wondered if she's coy enough to play along.

Clearing his throat, Tyrion Lannister moved away from her. Their hands remained clasped together as she picked herself up from the floor with his help.

The difference in their heights bothered her for a new reason this time. Sansa understood clearly that he is dependable and despite his stature she could truly lean on him. It does not, however, appear physically possible when they stand next to each other like this. But why would she even consider leaning on him?

She remembered that she once helped him up when he was drunk, and the way he fit in her arms like a child. The memory made her more uncomfortable, especially since he was still watching her with those terribly compassionate eyes.

"My lady," he began, slowly withdrawing his hand from her grasp. "In a few hours from now you shall have your lessons. I've requested for the services of two septas and they will be helping you study arithmetic and music. I sincerely hope such educational pursuits will…lessen the weight of the horrors you have suffered."

_And continue to suffer,_ Sansa thought as she nodded compliantly.

The squire has returned with her handmaiden Shae and the two of them prepared the table. Tyrion Lannister pulled a chair for her to sit on. Once both of them are seated and facing each other from the opposite side, Shae filled her plate with food which Sansa only stared down at, not at all feeling particularly hungry.

But she kept her eyes on the plate, wishing to elude Tyrion Lannister who still gazed upon her without saying a word. She was familiar how conversations come naturally to him but the circumstances they've found themselves in proved to be difficult to talk about. They are also both burdened by the knowledge that they are meant to be enemies and more blood is yet to be shed among their families.

Inside these concealed quarters where her own father used to sleep in when he was Hand, Sansa knew how mortifying it must be for Tyrion Lannister himself.

He was breaking fast with the daughter of said traitor as proclaimed by his nephew the King. The very same king who tried to put a sword in her hours ago.

_Is this going to be the way of things forever? Would I always find you in pieces, with me reaching out but never able to prevent the worst from happening?_

Sansa didn't know how to answer that question of his earlier. She decided to focus on the food right now so he wouldn't suspect that something was amiss.

"How are the eggs?" He finally spoke.

"Well-cooked, my lord," was her ready reply.

"I was hoping it would be fish this time. Pod?"

His squire answered. "Drought is almost upon us. Fish gets harder to come by, lord Hand."

Tyrion Lannister looked displeased with that information. "Alas, it always starts with a drought. Has Bronn carried out his duty to measure rations for the city food supply?"

"I have relayed your message three days ago, my lord." Pod answered as he poured fresh wine on their cups. Sansa opened her mouth to protest but her handmaid Shae, always so intuitive, had taken the cup away herself. Sansa glanced at her and smiled weakly and her handmaiden smiled back although she also took note of how weary she looked. And then she recalled the exhausting ordeal she had her go through last night with her scathing behavior and...the biting. Once she got back to her chambers, she must apologize to Shae.

Sansa wished she didn't remember being so unlady-like earlier. Thinking about that as she chewed on her food also brought back the memory of Tyrion Lannister being so close to her; of the way he took her in his arms; of how in that brief moment of need and desperation, she thought he might kiss her.

_And I might have allowed it._

Sansa forbade herself to go there. She swallowed and took her cup to quench her thirst because her throat began to feel dry as well. She glimpsed at the man who had plagued her contemplations with impurities. Fortunately he was still having a conversation with his squire. When Sansa looked across Shae, she found her handmaiden was still staring at her.

"More water, my lady?"

Sansa nodded and allowed Shae to fill her cup. As she was about to drink from its cusp, she glanced at Tyrion Lannister and found his gaze upon her once more. She could not meet his eyes anymore, not after everything, and the way she was beginning to feel differently about him. Was he starting to suspect something has changed? She silently prayed to the seven that he did not.

* * *

After they have finished their meal, Tyrion Lannister got the table cleaned and then he sent the servants away. They still sat across each other in uncomfortable silence as Sansa watched him tap his fingers on the table.

"My lady," he began. "I would like to accompany you during your lessons but I will be otherwise engaged with city business. Besides, it would be wise if I allowed you some space to collect your bearings." He paused, a sheepish smile crossed his features. "I also think you may have seen too much of me for one night."

Sansa blinked, unsure of his meaning. She found herself glancing towards the bed now and wondered if he had lain next to her the whole time while she slept. Considering that possibility made her blush. When she turned away, she realized that he had followed her stare and must have seen the scandalous assumption transform the expression in her face. He looked embarrassed now.

"I-I did not mean that, my lady," he hurriedly corrected. He turned his attention towards the window and added. "I was reading there while I watched over you."

Sansa shook her head. "Forgive me if I caused you shame. I did not wish to imply any sort of indecency on your part."

"Well, as long as you don't believe I was ever capable of..." He trailed off. It was the first time she had seen him so rattled.

Coughing, he reached out for his goblet and finished his wine before he spoke again. "I do not want you to misunderstand my intentions."

"No, I do not misunderstand, my lord." Sansa remarked, looking down on her own empty cup. "You are kind to me."

_But it's because you desire me._ Sansa was beginning to feel slightly warm. She fought the urge to pull her collar to allow her neck some air. She did not want to expose her flesh in sight as well, afraid that it might just tempt him. She is not ignorant with the ways of men, especially not after the riot where some peasants almost had their way with her.

"Have you ever been fucked, little girl?" One of them asked callously as he pressed his weight on top of her.

She closed her eyes and prayed it would be over soon.

"Sansa?"

Tyrion Lannister looked worried again. He got out of his chair so he could approach her. He stopped short, perhaps realizing that she might consider him intrusive. He had started to take caution with the way he would conduct any kind of contact between them which meant that Sansa was not concealing herself as well as she thought. She did not want him thinking that she is well-aware of the tension growing between them especially since she hasn't figured out what it is yet.

Against her instincts, she reached out a hand to take his. The gesture was risky and out in the open that Sansa dreaded the reaction it would incite from him.

Tyrion Lannister did not grip her hand immediately. It seemed to her that he was preoccupied presently on trying to figure out the change in her disposition.

Sansa dared to meet his gaze now. She allowed him to glimpse into her thoughts, trusting that whatever he reads would not be something he would use against her. This could be a test of his sincerity; an easy way for Sansa to see if his offer of friendship truly comes from good intentions. If she was learning to let her guard down around him then she had to be sure she wouldn't endanger her heart once more.

For a moment he just stared as if waiting for her to make the next move. They were almost on the same level of height as she sat before him like this. A few seconds passed before he began to lean close towards her.

_Is he going to...?  
_

Sansa disobeyed better judgment and responded to his movements, mirroring them without even thinking.

Should she...?

Those mismatched eyes were doing something to her. As soon as she felt his breath on her lips, her eyes closed on their own. Her other hand was raised as well, hovering above his cheek, ready to keep him in place just as soon as he seals the kiss. Their noses had already brushed against each other when Tyrion Lannister pulled away, somehow finding the strength to reject the temptation.

With that, Sansa felt like she betrayed herself. She let his hand go and looked away. But this also meant he passed the test.

"My lady, forgive my insolence, I never should have-I only wanted..." He let out a sigh. "I only wanted to care for you.

Sansa nodded, understanding now more than ever the kind of effect she has on him and that she was villainous for trying to use that against him. "There is nothing to apologize for, my lord," she answered unexpectedly calmly.

He eyed her suspiciously this time. Taking a few steps back, he replied. "Was this...a test, Lady Stark?"

The fact that he resorted back to formality did not escape her. She wounded him. But she had to hold her ground. "Can you blame me for trying to make sure you are not playing me as the queen regent has done?" The moment the words left her mouth, she regretted it. It was unlike her to forget courtesies. The events from last night might have lingered more than she allowed them to. In which case, she decided to guard her tongue again.

Curiously enough, Tyrion Lannister didn't seem offended. He must have succeeded gauging a reaction from her after all and that outweighed the trickery she subjected him to. He regarded her with a smile. "My sweet lady Sansa, I will never underestimate you again. You have survived us so far. That certainly warrants my respect." He bowed his head slightly.

When he gazed into her eyes again, he muttered softly, "I understand your apprehension, but I will say it once more, my lady; I am neither Joffrey nor my sister. I want to earn your trust because I believe I could get you out of harm's way. All you have to do is let me try."

Sansa said nothing. She exposed herself a lot for today. She could not afford any more unraveling. "My lessons then?" She inquired in order to change the subject. "Your lordship explained that I'm to study arithmetic then music in the afternoon."

Tyrion Lannister nodded and then started walking toward the window to pick up a book. He walked back to her and handed it. Sansa stared at it for a while to read its title. In faded gold letters, it bore the name of the knight he fondly talked about days ago. She placed her hands around it and thanked him for the generosity.

"Pod will escort you and your handmaiden Sheila to the study room. It's just near these chambers but hidden to those who have no business in it."

Sansa thanked him again, this time for his graciousness. She stood up, clutching the book against her chest. He stayed behind, waving his hand at her. There was a tight smile on his lips as he watched her leave.

* * *

She was only fourteen years old, and Tyrion almost kissed her. The child needed a guardian, not a lover, and yet he willfully and irresponsibly entertained the latter's probability because of the unspeakable want he was beginning to feel for the girl. But she admitted to the seduction on her part, all for the sake of testing the purity of his motivations. He didn't know what strength of mind or body enabled him to resist her earlier, but Tyrion will not stand a hypocrite and deny that he would have claimed her as his if the opportunity presents itself again. He warned himself that there should never be a next time. He had to do everything in his power to lessen their interactions then—and yet he worries for her welfare if he stayed away and allowed Joffrey to get his cruel hands on her again.

But Tyrion was weak when it came to beautiful women, and Sansa Stark was blooming into one every single day. How could he hope to protect her from monsters if he can't even protect her from himself?

Tyrion walked with Bronn at his side and a Stormcrow in front of him as they entered the marketplace. He asked Bronn. "How fares our city, lord commander?"

"I'm working on the thievery as we speak. But the sheep know what's good for them by now since the riot, and my job has been easier too."

The sellsword grinned, indicating that he had other motives Tyrion needs to keep in check by fattening his purse.

"And the rations?"

"Being followed through as commanded. That is why I wanted to get rid of the pests so they don't get their grubby hands on the city's belly and tear their way through it." The sellsword spat on the ground to make emphasis of his point.

Tyrion let out a dismissive sigh. "I hope you would solve the infestation of these pests with however you see fit." He glanced at Bronn with an authoritative gaze. "But handle them without unnecessary bloodshed. We do not want another riot. The people already believe me a demon monkey. Let us not offer them a truthful testimony through a brutal display. Am I clear?"

"Aye, little lion, I am your word and will." The sarcasm made Tyrion snicker. He did not really trust Bronn, but he was capable and clever in his own way, and

Tyrion liked to surround himself with cunning opportunists as long as they don't turn on him. Speaking of which...

"Any news from Renly's camp?"

"Littlefinger sent word. I asked Podrick to read the letter. It said that he was successful in returning the bones to Catelyn Stark. He awaits further instructions as long as you make it quick."

"Hmmm," Tyrion paused as he watched some of the city guards enter a brothel. He looked at Bronn. "I suppose the peace is well-kept that your men can find time for leisure?" He was in no position to judge. He would've indulged himself if he already didn't have a whore he exclusively sleeps with. He remembered the way Shae looked at him as he attended to Sansa last night. He wondered if she was jealous.

Bronn must have been reading his mind. "Have yourself another tart once in a while, Tyrion. It must be tiresome to have the same cunt almost every day."  
"I'm in a monagamous arrangment with my tart, Bronn. I do not mind having her cunt over and over."

Bronn laughed. The Stormcrow in front of them also cackled.

Tyrion allowed himself a smile, forgetting for a while how the last three days had taken a toll on him. Aside from important Hand business, he also wanted to get out of the castle. He did not fear Cersei, but he hardly believed he had enough energy left to suffer through her insidious wrath. He also didn't want her to know that he regretted nothing. His little shit of a nephew deserved that beating. Jaime would have concurred himself. Thinking about their estranged brother again gave Tyrion a melancholic streak he couldn't shrug off easily. He was in a particularly grieving mood as he went about his tasks, supervising the tax collection and the gathering of crops all afternoon with Bronn. He was in no hurry to get back to Red Keep at all, somewhat enjoying his new responsibilities and preoccupations fulfilling in some ways, especially the authority and freedom they give him.

Once or twice during the course of his activities, Tyrion's thoughts would turn inward to Sansa Stark, and it didn't upset him to think about her as it did in the morning after that shameful incident. He understood why he desired her but was not brave enough to confront it before. It wasn't her flesh that he craved. That might only be secondary, merely a visceral longing from a dwarf who aspires to acquire the things denied from him because he was born a certain way.

What he desired from Sansa Stark was family.

There is a huge piece of her that remains untarnished even after everything his own family had put her through. Seeing that shine through her hungered him in a way that haunted him at night. He envied what she had growing up; the warmth and the affection she never lacked from her parents and siblings; her courage to dream impossible fantasies; her hopeful innocence which he sought to preserve the most. This was why he wanted to be around her. He was hoping to taste a piece of that goodness that was selfishly ripped out of him since his very birth.

He desired for her like he would desire a phantom mother and all that lied beneath the other side of the reflection a beautiful youth such as hers posseses.

He wanted family. He wanted home. Power was the only strategy to get him there, and though he played the game well so far, he was not sure he wanted the seven kingdoms for himself. Robert Baratheon had that and they provided him no means of happiness. But what use would it be to have Westeros at your feet when there was no one who loves you that you can share it with?

Tyrion laughed at himself. What sort of Lannister would he be if he did not want power? He must stay vigilant from now on so that absolutely no one will be able to gain knowledge of what his heart calls for the most, or he might just lose the game to more savage contenders. He was only starting to enjoy himself after all.

* * *

He had gotten back to his chambers that night, walking by himself on the corridors with a candle on hand. Tyrion was drained for the day and he wobbled more than usual as he tried to reach the bed. To his surprise, Sansa Stark was already lying on the mattress fast asleep, clutching the book beside her in an almost protective gesture. There were no words to describe what he felt upon gazing at her again in this well-deserved repose. Absurdly quixotic as it may be, but Tyrion wanted to dedicate his life with a purpose of making sure she is cared for while still being a warden of the Lannisters. But what else could he hope to save once she becomes Joffrey's queen someday? He could not bring himself to ponder on the marital abuse she will have to bear through again until the innocence he admired about her will soon wither and be replaced by something dark and desolate; the very same things he saw every time he crossed paths with his sister.

No, he could not let Sansa Stark become the next Cersei.

Tyrion crossed the bed to reach the large window. He decided that he could sleep on it again since he's already used to finding himself awaken from it. Besides, he can watch Sansa Stark better in this angle just like the night before.

He expected that she'll be screaming again because of the atrocities that suffocate her in her slumber, but an hour has passed and she looked quite content. It was the first time he saw her at peace and Tyrion prayed to the gods, old and new, that this beautiful child could endure and thrive even with the harshest of winters almost at their doorstep. He also prayed he too would have the strength to survive it.

The candle was near extinguished when Tyrion finally closed his eyes. The very last thing he saw was Sansa Stark facing him, her lips bearing a hint of smile.

She pulled the book close to her chest and sighed, murmuring something to herself. Tyrion wondered if she was dreaming of Ser Dunk. If she was, he hoped for her safe voyage as she rides away with the brave knight back to her childhood home.

* * *

_"Now our lives are changing fast, hoping for something purer can last" ~We used to wait, _Arcade Fire


	5. We do not sow

_A/N: Thank you for all the wonderfully affirmative reviews and for every Follow and Favorite alerts. I'm happy to encounter Sanrion fans who share my love for this impossibly beautiful and complementary pairing. I'm really excited for their wedding in the show to take place and for me to add that in this story with my own approach and interpretation._

_____I would like to thank __**TheLastPhenom**__ as my beta._

**Reviews are very much appreciated**

* * *

**We do not sow**

* * *

Septa Lorraine was a difficult woman to please. Her patience defines her the most, but she also had incredible discipline and grace that Sansa believed to be unmatched by any woman. She also doesn't seem to approve of Sansa entirely. It wounded her so, since Sansa thought she was the best pupil that septas from Winterfell had daunted over since she was growing up, especially the late Septa Mordane. Thinking about her former teacher dampened her disposition so she tried to focus on her needlework, careful never to show Septa Lorraine that she was in a grave mood. In the middle of her task, the septa sat across her, waiting. She watched Sansa knit and it got slightly unnerving after awhile. She wondered why this was her lesson today. Wasn't she supposed to learn arithmetic?

Once Sansa has finished, she showed it to Septa Lorraine. The older woman only glanced briefly at it and then she pointed a finger on the hemlines and said.

"That is quite a clumsy stitch, Lady Stark."

For the first time in years Sansa felt embarrassed about her needlework. She wasn't even sure what she said or did to deserve this unfair treatment. But when she looked down at where the septa was pointing at, she finally saw the stitch she was indicating. Her eyes widened as she traced the ugly stitch with her little finger. It lay there on the cloth, crudely mocking her. She couldn't even appreciate the finished product now that this ugly stitch was woven into the perfect yellow strings. She carefully placed it down and was unable to meet Septa Lorraine's gaze.

"Do you understand now, Lady Stark?" she inquired.

She did not.

Septa Lorraine frowned. "You haven't been practicing."

"No, forgive me, I have not."

"There is nothing to forgive," the septa answered. Her voice was quiet and distant and bereft of any warmth that sometimes it feels like she was speaking to Sansa from a mountaintop. "Needlework requires attention for the smallest details. Failing to do that will produce inaccuracy. Arithmetic is the same."  
Sansa couldn't hold her tongue. "I thought needlework is expression of self."

Septa Lorraine smiled at last but it was sharp and looked wrong on her face. "Arithmetic is also," she simply replied.

Sansa let out a soft sigh. Her irritation is rising and it was unbecoming of a lady so she began to count in her head to soothe herself.

"Counting in your head?" The septa pointed out which made Sansa stare at her in shock. "Don't be surprised that I know what you're doing. You're taught well. You learn your lessons quick. Counting in your head when you feel stressed or angry is a technique passed on to many noble ladies like yourself."

"Forgive me, I did not intend to—"

"Get angry?" Septa Lorraine still smiled but it had no mirth to it. "I've been teaching noble girls for almost two decades. I'm accustomed to their slyness and disguised impudence through false courtesies and double-edged obedience."

"Septa Lorraine, please, I wasn't—"

"Lady Stark, please do not interrupt me when I'm still about to arrive to my point," she added. Hearing this, Sansa kept her mouth shut. Septa Lorraine interlaced her fingers together in an almost calm repose. "It's not improper to feel horrible things, and speaking them out loud is just as brave as having them.

A thing I must recommend to all women I come across." She regarded Sansa with a steady gaze.

Sansa tried not to look away. She was too afraid anyway.

"But you keep yours away from view even if it means you have to endure the way your tears burn when you save them for the night. That takes strength."  
Septa Lorraine stood up and faced the balcony. Her hands were behind her, one holding the other with comfortable ease. "I know of the burden you carry, Lady Stark. You are not the first girl in history to watch the spring of her youth turn black. I say these things so you will understand what your lessons with me entail."

Sansa listened well as she held her breath.

"Arithmetic is expression of self," the septa went on. "A lady of the house must learn which things she must instill value to with a coin. The finances of her lord husband's estate are her obligation. She must take cautions with budgets, excesses and frugal habits. The success of such endeavors will speak volumes to her character. In this way, she will demonstrate the best qualities of a true noble lady."

The septa paused and then she went on. "Not all women are the same, I'm afraid, yet all of us are weaving the same threads and when these come together, they become a singular pattern that is unique to each of us."

"Expression of self," Sansa murmured under her breath. She's beginning to understand. She kept her eyes downcast, admiring the gleam of the sunlight in her needles. They possess a viciousness about them that pacified her.

Septa Lorraine faced her again. Her expression seemed to soften but Sansa thought that maybe it was merely caused by the light behind her. "Lord Tyrion is a gracious benefactor. He conveyed his concerns for you in a manner that's risky and could hurt his other interests."

Sansa responded before she could help herself. "Charity always does."

"Oh? You think he has done you goodness out of charity?"

"I cannot be sure, septa."

"He is a Lannister. Are you not sure of that as well?"

She opened her mouth but was unable to come up with words sufficient enough to articulate what she thinks—especially what she feels about him.

He is a Lannister…is she no longer sure of that?

She had shared his chamber for two nights now and it served almost like a haven. She had slept in the bed where her father must have lain. She could not smell him on the sheets, however. She could not even remember his scent. Or the way he smiled, which was rarely. And then Sansa woke up to see Tyrion Lannister reading by the window earlier. She didn't make a sound and watched him for some time until he took notice. There was something about that smile he displayed, the way it framed his face, the way it instantly diminished the heaviness that surrounded them.

Sansa became more aware at that moment how there was only a thin veil between them in the moments when they're alone together, and if either of them wished it, they could as easily cast it aside. And then…

Septa Lorraine began to speak again as she held out some parchments that Sansa reached to get. "You will be answering a series of written equations for the first hour of our lesson today. They're basics and I hope you're brushed up on them."

"I am," Sansa answered although she wasn't feeling confident enough.

Septa Lorraine sat down and asked her to open them. "Consider these equations your most valuable companions. They are exact and sensible. They will only elude you if you don't learn to enjoy them."

"Yes, septa." Sansa placed down the needles on the table. She picked up the quill on her left as she read the numbers. "Thank you, septa."

* * *

Sansa's palms itched to turn another page of Ser Dunk's adventures once more. She had never been so engrossed in the pleasure of reading before unless they were scrolls about songs. It was a very relaxing experience to immerse herself in the brave knight's beautiful stories. They were quite funny too, and Sansa hadn't laughed in what felt like a lifetime. She supposed she has Lord Tyrion to thank for that.

Sansa tested the new way she acknowledged him in her thoughts. Tyrion, his lordship, she thought. Lord Tyrion, my benefactor. That one didn't seem appropriate. He paid for her education now but something about the term struck Sansa as disturbing. She couldn't figure out what.

She realized that it would be better to think less about his lineage as a lion as much as she could. It was merely a last name that he shared with Queen Cersei and Joffrey. Sansa tried to convince herself that him being a Lannister meant little, but she was still a Stark of Winterfell and that will always matter to her.

And he remained the kin of the monster who killed my father. His kindness should not be enough to make me forget that. And yet whenever she's around him—and he would look at her with a gaze that speaks to her soul like no other—she wished that his compassion was indeed enough for her to forget everything.

_Oh, why would I wish that? _

There should never be anything more valuable than family.

Hasn't she learned that the hard way already?

"Lady Stark, please focus." Septa Lorraine spoke from behind her.

She nodded and dutifully scribbled her solutions to the equations before her. Septa Lorraine was right about the numbers. With the events of her life in King's Landing darkening every day, her lessons may be the only thing that make sense.

* * *

"A great beauty?" Shae looked positively livid as she spat out the phrase. "Is that what you think of our lady Sansa?"

"Our lady Sansa?" Tyrion shot back.

Shae crossed her arms in front of her. "We take care of her. She's ours."

"Like she's our own child?" Tyrion dared to laugh at that.

Shae narrowed her eyes at him. "She has already flowered. Perhaps that's why it's…" she reached into his breeches and grabbed his cock. "…hard for you now."

Tyrion felt utterly disgusted by the implication even if there was a semblance of truth to it. He couldn't let Shae know that. He squeezed her breast to stress a point. "I never get hard for any woman anymore but you."

Shae looks unconvinced, however. She wore the same irritable expression as she unlaced his breeches and knelt down. "Everyone is taking notice of the lady Sansa. You especially, even the Hound."

"The Hound?" Tyrion didn't like that. The Clegane brothers were known for their ruthlessness and deprived acts of violence. Though Sandor Clegane, his shit of a nephew's guard dog, had been domesticated for years, the same malice lurked underneath his Kingsguard armor. If he had been taking special notice of the Stark girl, then Tyrion should find a way to divert that attention to something more useful.

"What is wrong?" Shae asked as she pulled him out of her mouth.

"I was just thinking."

"Oh? Am I distracting you from that?" Her grip on his cock was ominous.

"No, not at all. Please. I was feeling so good already…"

"I don't believe you," Shae tightened her clutch. Her jealousy made her cheeks flush and he had never seen her this possessive of him until now. It chilled his bones. Is this still all part of the act? She was his whore and they've agreed on the terms of arrangement long before. She must embody paramour rather than prostitute, and share his bed and listen to the events of his day like a woman who is devoted to her husband. Tyrion looked at her now and instantly felt the sting of distrust. She couldn't genuinely love him now, could she? This was still part of the act. And yet Shae's jealousy seemed real enough. Or perhaps because of her poor upbringing, she feels threatened and insecure that a noble lady like Sansa Stark can take that away all that she had worked hard for so easily. Is that it?

Tyrion frowned. Why should he entertain such follies? Did he fancy himself caught between the love and desire of two beautiful girls this time? _You pitiful imp_, he told himself. This had always happened. Sometimes when atop a horse, he forgot what limited height he could only measure himself with. He might bear the Lannister name, making him a part of the richest family in Westeros—but that was utterly meaningless, given the way his sister and own father could afford to treat him less than.

He put his hand at the back of Shae's head, urging her to satiate him. Even though she still looked annoyed, Shae complied and buried her mouth around his manhood. Tyrion tried to focus on the pleasurable sensation vibrating throughout his senses. He allowed his fingers to slide through Shae's raven hair and tried to enjoy the softness of its caress against his palm. As he closed his eyes, he immediately thought of Sansa Stark—the lady—no, a child—and he quickly shoved the thoughts of her away. But she hovered above him nevertheless as he stood there, being serviced by his whore (and out in the open too, this can't happen again). It surprised him that he thought of her not as something to further ignite the troubling lust in his loins. He was thinking about what she could be doing now, and when he could see her again so they might perhaps talk about Ser Dunk. Tyrion sighed as he could feel his release building up. He stopped thinking about the Stark girl then and murmured Shae's name as he came into her mouth. She pulled away and shot him another glare. This time she didn't swallow. She made a point to stand up and spit it out the window. Tyrion was starting to get annoyed but he did not speak it aloud. He laced his crotch as he watched Shae walk away from him. He called after her.

"I wish not to cause any more reason to displease you, sweetling," he said. "Tell me what I can do to earn your affections again."

Shae turned around. For a while she just looked at him before she finally said. "If you want to take care of Sansa, you won't let her marry the king."

He blinked at that. "There is only so much I could do to help her."

"Then you're not trying hard enough."

Puzzled, he asked. "So you truly are concerned for the girl's welfare?"

Shae gave him a cold stare. "I had an older sister before. I have never seen her after we left our village. The last time we talked, she had just flowered. And then she was shipped off by our aunt." She paused. "In a way, I do know how it feels to have no power or control over the things that happen to you."

Tyrion approached her and took her hand. "Well," he remarked. "Don't we all?"

* * *

After her lessons in the morning, Sansa decided to walk back to her chambers, carrying her needles and scrolls filled with answered equations. She was looking forward for the afternoon lessons in music later. As she was near the threshold that leads to the staircase, she noticed that there was someone behind one of the poles. She slowed down to merely glance who it was and then she recognized that it was Lord Tyrion. She stopped walking and quietly approached, not wishing to alarm him. She wanted to express her gratitude for everything he had done for her in this week alone. Without thinking much about it, Sansa run a hand through her hair to smoothen any tangle. She stroked the front of her skirts for any wrinkles as well. She wondered if she should smile. She didn't want him to see her grim or he might not believe that she was sincere. It should be easier between them now.

As she reached him, she heard him groan and say something. Whatever it was, she didn't approach further. There was something about his manners that made her cautious of what to do next. She was close enough to see Lord Tyrion leaning against the wall with his eyes shut tightly and his mouth slightly open. His breathing sounded strange, as if he had been running. She took more steps closer, wondering what to say to him in case he sees her.

Sansa stopped when she saw his hand gripping someone's hair. That someone was kneeling in front of him and…

She found her hands balling into fists as soon as she understood what was happening. She was unable to make sense of it at first, but she was not as ignorant as everyone thinks, and certainly not in matters of…amorous displays between lovers. Sansa felt her cheeks melting as she placed a hand on her mouth, afraid that she might utter a sound that would draw his attention.

She shouldn't stay here and watch and yet she was terrified to move an inch. She should hurry but her skirts might make sweeping motions which could catch his eye. So she opted to take a step backward. Sansa should not be looking anymore but found her gaze fixed at his face especially when she saw the expression on it as he let out what sounded like a satisfied groan.

_Does that mean it's over?_ Sansa shouldn't ponder that as well.

Fearing to see something else she might deeply regret, Sansa quickly bent down to take off her shoes. She held them together with one hand while the other gripped her skirts as she run up the staircase. Because she was barefoot, it allowed her to go away in silence. As soon as reached the top, she pushed the wooden doors open and collapsed to her bed, burying her face on the pillows. She was still clutching her shoes as she tried not to think about what she saw.  
To her horror, she suddenly felt her red flower trickled down, and the sensation rattled her, making her feel disgusted about her body for the first time. She sat up and squeezed her thighs together, wishing she could forget everything.

She could still feel the terror and panic caught in her throat so she tried to relax. How could she hope to face him again after witnessing that?

Sansa stared down at her shoes, trying to erase the image in her head before it became too etched in her mind. She hardly saw anything, anyway. In fact, she could be wrong. It might be some trick of light—a hallucination…

_"Have you ever been fucked, little girl?_" she thought of that awful memory again and felt even worse than she already is now.

Sansa laid back down on the bed and squeezed her eyes shut. She should know better than to get frazzled like this. Everyone always told her that she has a delicate constitution. Even during the warmest day she could somehow catch a cold and stay bed-ridden for days. Maester Luwin said that sometimes her sickness may derive from her being so agitated and worrisome, when not fanciful and left to her own daydreams. Sansa never particularly liked going outdoors and would rather stay inside her chambers unless the septa invites her for needlework and cake somewhere in the halls of Winterfell. There she was accompanied by servants who were around fifteen or seventeen year old girls at the time when she was only nine. Every time the septa left them alone, they would whisper naughty things to each other. Sansa knew that the content of their conversations is unbecoming of ladies, given with the way they giggled and sat with their legs half-open and their skirts slightly raised above their knees. She resented their coquettishness but at night she would pray that the seven would not punish them for their wicked ways.

As she got older and better at deciphering their speech, she realized the truth in their innuendoes and found herself envying the certain escapades they participated along with the men-folk from the farming areas. They talked about such things lovingly as if they were weaving them with the prickly end of a needle that pierces naturally through the velvet white fabric until a complete design would emerge. Sansa looked across these girls one time and found that their needlework was deliberately hasty because they were so caught up in their fantasies. She felt lost in their decadent reverie this time and found courage to dream though her dreams were a lot different than theirs. She dreamed of love like the ones from the songs, of a prince ever so charming to take her to the altar and promises her eternal devotion until the end of their days. She dreamt of luxurious castles filled with brave knights, of tending to a garden filled with abundant flowers that never wither or die.

She was nine years old then. Sansa opened her eyes now and found them wet. She turned to the side and tried not to weep as she understood now that she had always been a foolish little thing. She should have run off with a farm boy like one of those girls if only she knew then the future only led to put her in a cage. She should have sought happiness in simpler things, but she was a noble lady of the North, the eldest Stark daughter of Winterfell. Her lord father said she was meant to have everything and so everything was what she dreamed and prayed for.

Sansa wasn't sure why she was grieving about that again. She supposed it's better than thinking about the other things happening to her, especially anything to do with Lord Tyrion—and the look on his face as he…

She covered her face with her hands. There was something inherently wrong of thinking about it. She should focus on something else.

She laid there with her hands clasped together now, praying to the gods of her mother and even to the godswood of her father to keep Joffrey in bed. If the gods can claim his brother Bran's legs then she wished for Joffrey never to walk again as well. She prayed for someone to keep Robb strong through the battles he faced and for her mother Lady Catelyn to have lesser nightmares. She prayed that Rickon grows taller so he can protect himself, and Arya to be alive, and to possess the speed to run away if the darkness comes too close to her at night. She even prayed for her bastard brother Jon Snow, asking the gods that if he's lying injured on a snowy slope beyond the Wall, that they grant him wings so he could fly off safely back home.

_Back home at Winterfell, _she prayed, _is where my father's bones should be, buried next to his kin, with his beloved sister Lyanna._

In her mind, she saw the axe falling over his head like a thousand times before, and his legs—she couldn't stop looking at his legs, and the way they twitched…

_Oh, what a foolish little thing you are, Sansa. Lord Baelish was right. Life is not a song, and now I'm learning this every day to my sorrow._

The door creaked open and she immediately sat up. Her handmaid Shae walked in and noticed the state she was in. "Why are your shoes in the bed, my lady?"

She climbed on the bed herself without permission. Shae was insolent and touched Sansa with a familiarity that servants shouldn't allow themselves to do. But they were not entirely intrusive and more than once Sansa had welcomed them at times when being held by another person is what gets her through the nightmares.

Shae took her shoes and placed them down the bed. She remained beside Sansa and took a pillow so she could use it for her feet. "How was arithmetic?"

"I didn't expect to enjoy it," she answered truthfully.

"You're a smart girl. I'm sure you had."

Sansa laid back down and slowly placed her head against her handmaid's bare shoulder. The proximity was comforting. A few moments later, Shae had her hand on her knees, rubbing them in a rhythmic way that made her sleepy.

"There's a luncheon at the Tower of the Hand that Lord Tyrion wishes to invite you to before your next lesson," Shae explained.

Sansa didn't want to see him at all. She'd rather not, but she couldn't refuse the invitation of the man who's been nothing but kind to her. She supposed she could feign ignorance and pretend that witnessing him in such a situation did not somewhat dampen her spirits. She's well-versed in courtesies. This one shouldn't be hard for her. "And how did you come across this invitation?" she asked.

"Pod, his squire." Shae replied as she sat up. "You should change garments."

Sansa looked down at her dress. "You really think I ought to?"

"Yes," her handmaid is going through her closet now. "And splash some water in your face to wash off the smudges of tears."

Sansa didn't even bother denying that she had been crying. She stood up and began to disrobe herself. She glanced at Shae and the gown she was holding.

"That's an old one. The queen regent says I shouldn't wear bright colors anymore."

"Why not?" Shae challenged. "Blue has always been your color."

"The queen regent—"

"Is with her son, far too concerned with his welfare to inspect your gowns," she marched towards Sansa before she could even protest.

It had been a month since she wore something that resembles the dresses her mother used to make for her. But as soon as she put it on and Shae began to lace her back, it had become obvious that it did not fit her in a way that is considered proper. Her chest was pushed out, emphasizing her budding breasts, and the shape of her waist is more pronounced than it should be. Ashamed of the way the fabric clings to her body, Sansa tried to cover herself. It was so tight everywhere. She could hear her handmaid laughing at her noticeable apprehension.

"I wonder when you'll stop growing, my lady," she teased.

Sansa was flustered by now. "I told you I shouldn't wear it!"

"You look dashing, lady Sansa."

"I look like a harlot!"

Shae brushed a hand on her stomach, glancing at the full-length looking-glass before them. "Aye, but the expensive kind."

"There's an expensive kind?" Sansa shouldn't encourage this kind of filthy exchange but Shae's open delight was quite flattering somehow.

"I cannot wear this," Sansa stressed each word, ignoring the way she blushed when she glimpsed at her reflection further. "If I am to eat with Lord Tyrion…"

"You should look your best," Shae finished, nodding. She was already loosening the laces. "But you could still wear it. It just needs a little adjustment."

Sansa thoughtfully looked at the reflection before her. She did like how much the blue brings out her pale complexion and how its soft contrast makes her hair even redder, almost vibrant. She felt beautiful in a way she hasn't felt before.

Shae must have noticed her staring at herself because she said. "Dozens of girls will kill to be in your place, my lady."

"My place as the ward of the Lannisters, you mean?" Sansa inquired boldly. "That is not something I would wish on any girl."

Shae sighed softly as she finished fixing her dress. It didn't hug her body in such a grotesque manner anymore but Sansa was still not sure about it.

"You can't hide your beauty forever, my lady," Shae remarked.

"But…" Sansa trailed off. She remembered what the queen regent told her about women's charms and how they could be weapons. She's never going to heed that advice. Her body was not for sale or for use without her consent. It will belong only to her husband, a man who is brave, gentle and strong as her father used to say.

Shae began to brush her hair. Her hands moved with a familiarity that put her at ease. With her flowering, Sansa knew she'll be more than adequate to be Joffrey's wife. The queen regent will make sure of that. It's hard to believe that there was ever time Sansa admired her and believed her son was her one true love. Now just the thought of the king's hands touching her body—and given the way he had her brutalized since their betrothal—was enough to send her running off a cliff. But there will be no such opportunity of escape when his time has come to bed her.

If she bore him any heirs, she will love them all and do everything in her power to make sure they won't become him. It will be her only solace.

* * *

He had been pacing around the room for a few minutes now, unable to figure out what to do with himself which is odd because Tyrion hadn't been this nervous for a very long time. And yet there he was, in possibly the most dismantled version as he will ever be. And what for? For a girl who was everything about the world he craved the most? Tyrion knew he should suppress such ugly feelings or they will take over. He was merely embarrassed about yesterday, that was it, when he irresponsibly…

But she compelled him to. She seduced him in her damaged state, believing it will lessen her distrust if he proves to her that he has nothing but clean intentions. Tyrion may not have taken advantage of her in that moment but the thoughts he's been plagued with keep trying to recall that event over and over.

Tyrion felt so vile that he came close in deciding to never see Sansa Stark again which is rather foolish since they are in the same castle and once she's wed to Joffrey, she'll be his niece-in-law and any social gathering of the family will be uniquely painful for both of them if he did not find a way to keep it friendly at least.

He stopped walking and reviewed that predicament. Tyrion kept offering her friendship but he never truly tried to figure out what that would entail and to what purpose it will serve. Does it always have to be this hard?

The door opened just in time before he started to absorb his dark contemplations too much. Pod escorted the young lady in question who was looking less and less a child of fourteen. Why did she even wear that gown? When she passed by the window, the sunlight made the blue gown sparkle a little even though there were no crystals stitched anywhere. There was also a noticeable smile on the girl's lips which quickly disappeared when his gaze lingered there.

Cautiously, Tyrion pulled out a chair for her to sit on. She thanked him and slowly sat down as Pod helped him push her chair close to the table. Sansa barely uttered a word which wasn't new but something else bothered him about the way she acted now, especially whenever he would see her eyes watching him. He couldn't read what she's thinking. It was easier when she had been guarding her thoughts but now she didn't even seem interested in doing that, though it still doesn't guarantee that she'll be receptive to him this time. Tyrion wished Shae joined them but she was nowhere in sight. He couldn't be alone with the girl again. This means Pod had to stand in the corner during the luncheon. That was perfectly acceptable.

"We have goat stew and radishes," Pod remarked as he carefully poured the stew on Sansa's bowl. "And lemon cake as well, my lady."

She brightened at that. "Thank you."

Tyrion was already on his third cup of wine. He had nothing particular to say to her at all. He must have run out of words somewhere along the way, or he now lacked the energy to engage her in any form of dialogue because he knew she would only recite courtesies back at him. He simply did not have the patience today. Or perhaps he was wounded by what she did and the kind of response it elicited from him. Either way, he will not start the conversation first. Perhaps using a new tactic to get her to speak honestly would yield better results.

Sansa Stark sipped her stew quietly for several minutes, pausing once in a while to look out the window where birds have perched on the ledge.

He watched the birds as well and felt slightly drowsy because of the wine.

"I heard a song once," she began to speak.

Tyrion did not interrupt but he glanced at her to let her know that he's listening. She was still watching the birds as she went on. "It's about a flightless white bird dying on the edge of a snowy cliff. A warlock took pity and turned the snow around it into wings. I'd like to think that it was able to fly away someday and since then it would live freely in the skies."

"I know that song." Tyrion answered.

Sansa turned to him, blinking. "Do you, my lord?"

Tyrion thought about it. He knew the tune. All he had to do is recall it. "I think the verses were something like…" he muttered to himself, trying to grasp the words and the melody at the same time. " _'Small wonder, it was called, pale and made of tendrils'_," he cleared his throat, focusing on the melody.

_It walked miles and miles in winter's time,  
And when it can't, it waited to be killed.  
Small wonder laid in the flurry edge,  
No more than a wisp of bones and marrow.  
_

Tyrion hummed the next lines he had forgotten and then sang again, "_this little wonder with no wings to flutter, winter's litter in the gutter…_"

He must have been very much drunk indeed to sing the verses so easily. It felt quite silly too, and he saw Pod smirking from where he stood.

But it surprised him when she sang the next lines, "_Winter sorrow and no tomorrow for Small wonder with nothing to barter._" She looked at the birds on the ledge again and the light on her face made it look absolutely serene.

_But then warlock Wilcord gathered the frost around it  
And spread Small wonder across the plains  
Until it was ready for flight  
_

She closed her eyes slightly. "Until it was ready for flight…"

Tyrion felt something unfathomable linger in his chest when the song has ended. He tried to ignore it as he placed his goblet gently on the table. He waited until she opened her eyes again before he asked. "Septa Cora wanted me to ask you if you play any instrument."

"The lyre," she answered.

"Oh," he paused. "How can you say the warlock turned the snow into the bird's wings? There was nothing in the song to indicate that."

Sansa shrugged her shoulders. "That's how I've always imagined it."

"It seems rather inaccurate," Tyrion shifted in his chair. "It seemed to me that Small wonder died already. And his remains were spread across the plains by the warlock. It's quite a literal translation and nothing more."

"But songs have symbolic meanings, do they not, my lord?" Sansa countered. "The last line of the song: until it was ready for flight. That's why I think he was given wings so he could fly."

"I've always thought Small wonder is a female bird," he remarked. "Perhaps the flight the song spoke of is symbolic for the passage of death, of…I don't know, letting go of this life and going forth to the next?" he gulped down his goblet again and when he finished, he looked at Sansa and went on. "And Small wonder is clinging to whatever it is that's keeping her in the snow. She's not ready. Not for flying or for moving on, at least not yet. So the warlock scattered bits of her everywhere since she wants to say grounded for the rest of time. Maybe." He sighed as he felt the effect of wine take over. It relaxed his body and warmed his flesh. "But we will never know."

Sansa was holding the spoon in her grip with a tightness he observed was an indication that she was upset.

"Forgive me," Tyrion realized the candor in his words about what occurred to him may have been a meaningful song for her. "I'm in a terrible mood lately."

"You're right, my lord." Sansa let go of the spoon but she still stared at it. "The bird died. It did not survive the winter. Like you said, it was a literal translation." Her bottom lip quivered. "And nothing more."

Tyrion opened his mouth to offer some sort of comfort or to retract his careless words just so he could glimpse her smile once more—but he restrained himself.

He watched the cruel realization darkened her features but this might be for the best. He simply could not treat her like an innocent, fragile creature forever.

"War is coming to our doorstep, Sansa." He began, measuring his words carefully. "Stannis' fleets and army will attempt to sack King's Landing in a few days. Do you know of this?"

She gave a solemn nod.

"I will not shield you from harsher truths this time," he continued. "I have a plan to defend the city but if it all fails, the seven help us, then you may consider it an opportunity to plead for your life once Stannis arrives."

She looked at him now with disbelief in her eyes.

"He was the brother of King Robert, a friend of your father's." Tyrion explained. "He will see you as a victim caught between a war you are not to blame for. But I must also disclose the possibility that he will also hold you in captive and exchange you if your brother surrenders his power as King in the North."

"And…" she trailed off and then asked. "How do you plan to defend the city?"

Tyrion was already out of his chair and pacing away from the table. He was not sure how to phrase it. He didn't think he could tell her but he could see she's rather hopeful that her luck will improve after the war and yet he cannot promise that it might. So he replied. "Joffrey is getting better but he will not harm you because he would be waist-deep with the preparations for attack. Besides, I think it's more likely he'll focus his bloodlust on Stannis out of frustration and shame, seeing as he can't get to either of us." _For the time being,_ Tyrion thought,_ the boy is still king of all seven kingdoms. He will find a way._

Sansa listened to him as he explained the situation further. "My father rides from Harrenhal but no one is certain when he'll arrive. As acting Hand, it is my obligation to hold back Stannis' forces long enough for…" he trailed off. He didn't want to disclose his own opinion on the matter without sounding insecure.

"For Lord Tywin to aid in the victory?" she finished for him.

Tyrion raised an eyebrow at her. "You want the lions to win then?" He approached her slightly, weighing their gazes together. "You want Joffrey to remain in the Iron Throne? For him to marry you and for you to bear him sons? That's the happy ending you're going to settle for?"

Sansa said nothing for a while. She pushed the bowl of stew to the side and Pod took that as a cue to remove the dish. As soon as he took it, his squire headed for the door. Tyrion did not stop him from leaving although being alone with Sansa Stark again would certainly test if he can keep his inhibitions alert.

"I will not risk everything with the promise of Lord Stannis' mercy as I did before with Queen Cersei's," she answered, completely truthful this time as far as he could tell. "If it's a choice between trading one cage for another…I'd rather stay here." She met his gaze boldly now. "You're not as bad as the rest of them."

"You can't mean that," Tyrion readily responded. "I can only protect you from Joffrey as long as I am Hand but…" he was standing before her now, looking down to avoid the helplessness in her stare. "That could change when my father arrives. So I must ask you to consider every angle and take the opportunity to save yourself."

Pod came back before their conversation could continue. He told them that Septa Cora was already waiting on the other room for the music lessons.

Sansa stood up and walked to the door. She glanced briefly at Tyrion.

Tyrion watched her from this distance; her blue gown so luminescent, her auburn hair ever so kissed by fire that it gave a semblance of radiance to an otherwise broken thing that she had been for a long time.

"Enjoy the music then," he called out. "It's time to sing."

* * *

The night came quickly than usual.

Tyrion carried his legs with more effort as well, seeing as that there was so much exhaustion he had to ensure for this day alone, making all necessary arrangements for the coming war. When he reached the staircase, he muttered a loud, "fuck every living god!" as he dragged his weight with each step. He was taking him time with his walk when he saw Sansa Stark passed by. It looked like she was in tears. Deeply concerned and thinking he might have something to do with it as well, he followed her but kept his distance especially when Sandor Clegane appeared and stopped Sansa in her tracks. Tyrion watched the exchange for a while.

"Look who's come out to play," the Hound said. "Would the king want his little prize out, wondering alone?" He placed his hand on the wall where Sansa is now resting her back on.

She said. "I'm just going back to my chambers, Ser."

The Hound sneered, glancing at her from head to foot. "You are a woman now. The king will be happy soon, taking you into his bed…"

This elicited another automatic response from her. "The night we're wed will be the happiest—"

"STOP THAT!" Clegane grabbed her elbow.

"You're hurting me, Ser!"

"Ser? I'm a dog, remember? The king's dog!" He grinned cruelly at her now, closing the distance between them. "And you're his bird. Would you sing me a song, little bird? Songs about knights and fair maidens?"

Tyrion's silence felt unusual to him but there's something about this exchange that is more than meets the eye and he cannot put his finger on it just yet.

"Go on," the Hound urged Sansa Stark. "Sing."

With a look of defiance, Sansa said. "You won't hurt me."

"Sing!" Clegane gripped her arm again.

"I don't know any songs," she answered him. "Not anymore."

As soon as she said that, the Hound's expression softened which Tyrion took note of. Not even badly burnt side of his face was able to conceal it. When he loosened his grip on Sansa, Tyrion decided to interfere now.

"Clegane, what's going on?"

"Never mind it. I was just taking our lady—"

"I will see to her," he cut him off. "Go find a tree to piss on."

Clegane would have bared his teeth but something has changed in his disposition after speaking to Sansa and Tyrion figured out it was guilt. He may not be taking pleasure from taunting the girl at all, and yet he was drawn to her and Tyrion was beginning to understand why. It made him uncomfortable because it's probably the same reason why he's seeking out Sansa in the first place. He may not be so different from the dog after all.

"Thank you, my lord." Sansa's ready response interrupted his thoughts.

"I'm glad I caught up to you at this hour," he remarked. "I was just about to go back to the tower. But there's something I've been meaning to give you."

He took something from his pocket. It was a small box that he had kept for days now. Tyrion opened it and showed her a small vial filled with green liquid.

"It's wildfire," he said. "Five drops of it and it would be enough to burn a considerably large room if you pour it on a hearth or by using a torch."

Her eyes widened. "What am I to do with that, my lord?"

"A sort of fail-safe, perhaps? Protection from anybody who might attempt to hurt you," he closed the box and handed it to her. "You could use it on them. All it takes is heat to react. Even daylight could suffice with the right temperature."

Sansa stared at the box, her face paler than usual. "And I could use it on myself as well?" She looked at him, her eyes alive with something that terrified him.  
He walked forward to take her hand and placed the box on top of it. He squeezed them together with his other hand. "That option is available but it's one that should only be considered when all options are rendered moot." He let her hand go. She clutched the box with a strength he hadn't seen before.

"It's getting harder and harder to dream when you live in a waking nightmare."

Tyrion let a few seconds pass before he said. "It's not your fault."

He shouldn't bring it up but he can't let her keep doing this to herself anymore. "I've always wondered why you never fought back. You just let Joffrey and his knights beat you around. It was as if…" he sighed and then continued. "It was as if you think you deserve it. And you do, don't you? You blame yourself for the misfortunes that befallen your family." He took a step forward while her feet remained still but she could not look at him anymore.

"You think you killed him, your father. And whatever is happening to you, whatever brutality, you accept it as some sort of punishment, don't you?"

Sansa's bottom lip quivered again and her already moist eyes began to leak as she stepped away from him. Tyrion did not stop talking. "You think it's penance. The bruises on your legs, the knife wounds on your wrists—the whipping, the punching…everything." He was starting to feel the anger taking hold. "You think it's the least you could do, just stand there and let them pound you into dust because it's what the gods would have wanted as payment for your betrayal."

"Please…" Sansa gripped the box and sobbed.

Without him thinking about it, he murmured. "Sweet Sansa," before he could stop himself. Or stop himself from reaching out to grip her hands again. She tried to free herself but he held on. He stared into her eyes and said with every courage he could muster himself. "You're wrong. It wasn't your fault."

She was reduced into tears now but she kept silent. And then she looked at him with accusation in her eyes. "And you don't think I will use this vial you gave me to kill myself? Because I would!"

"You won't," he smiled at her, loosening his grip on her hands. "From what I can understand, you are the girl who believed that the bird in the song did not die but was rather given wings to fly, to be free. This," he nodded at the box, "is not the freedom you are looking for. I believe you will stay on that snowy hill for as long as you could until you're ready for the flight you've always dreamed of."

Sansa shook her head wordlessly and he could see that she could no longer stand to be in his presence so he allowed her to leave. She walked off, pressing the box close to her chest like the way she embraced Ser Dunk's storybook in her sleep last night.

There was nothing more he could do. He just has to believe that as much as she will learn to shed off her innocence, she won't abandon her values and ideals in the process. And that was all he could do for now: believe in her.

* * *

_ "There's a wall between us and we're too afraid, much too afraid to sing" _~STARS


	6. Hear Me Roar

_A/N: I apologize for the delay. I've been so consumed by the fandom happenings around GoT s3 and Doctor Who which impeded my momentum in writing this chapter. I was experiencing a dry spell due to the heavy weight of my fangirl tumblogging but rest assured that this fanfic will not suffer that much anymore. __I can assure you that I'll be updating faster for the next chapter. I was just really stuck with work that I usually can't write in daylight. So to be honest, half of this chapter was accomplished in the wee hours last night. I wrote non-stop and I hope you will enjoy the finished product._

_I really enjoyed the Sanrion wedding episode, even if it was different from the book. Since this story is under the TV show category, expect that I will be writing the events from the show more than the events in the books but I will of course strive to balance both. Also, this chapter includes SanSan moments just to keep things in perspective and to maintain canon character dynamics. As much as I ship Sanrion, I recognize the authentic connection that SanSan has as characters and a ship so I explored them here, and I hope you enjoy it, readers! Thanks for waiting and for all the reviews, even the blank ones :p_

_I apologize for anyone who was emotionally traumatized by the Red Wedding. The finale for season 3 was the greatest so far though._

_______I would like to thank __**TheLastPhenom**__ as my beta._

**Reviews are very much appreciated.**

* * *

**Hear me roar**

* * *

In the next few days, all that Sansa could dream about was Winterfell and the direwolves. She even stirred awake once or twice, swearing she could hear a wolf call beckoning her from beyond the city. It was only a hollow sound at first, but it grew louder until it pierced through her bones and hovered persistently every night since. When she told Shae about it, her handmaid remarked that it could just be the horns._ War is coming to our doorstep,_she remembered. That doesn't seem to be the worst of it because sometimes she would dream of Tyrion Lannister too, and it filled her mornings after with unwelcome retrospection and a longing she would not name.

On the other hand, Sansa was beginning to feel close to Septa Lorraine even if there was a strange kind of distance that she insisted to impose. Septa Cora was more receptive and affectionate, and she sang of songs that she composed on her own which Sansa would very much like to learn herself. Her lessons were a helpful distraction that kept her occupied for the rest of the day. For three days she was falling into a pleasant routine which all the more reminded her of home.

Later that afternoon, the queen regent called upon her to visit the king's chambers. Sansa dared not to disobey even if she couldn't stomach to see Joffrey again. Cersei Lannister told her to come alone because he desired a private conversation and Sansa readied herself for whatever that entailed; she knew the queen regent will find a way to punish her somehow.

She saw the Kingsguard standing next to the door. Ser Meryn sneered at her and for a while the knife wounds on her wrists itched. Sansa curtsied before him, greeting him for a lovely afternoon. He chuckled then and, as she opened the door, he put his hand behind her back and shoved her inside. She would've lost her balance if only the Hound wasn't there to catch her.

"Steady yourself, little bird," he whispered ominously. He pulled her closer to him and she held his gaze as he added. "The king misses you. He's eager to see you."

"Take her here, dog."

The moment she heard the voice, her chest felt like a hammer slammed into it. She balled her fingers into fists and then took a breath as the Hound held her by the elbow and they started walking together towards the bed.

Joffrey was already sat up, his arms crossed in front of him like a petulant child. But his eyes were definitely older with a suspicious look that she tried not to notice too much. His face wasn't as swollen as she hoped but it comforted her somehow once she saw that he's now almost as bruised as she is. When he reached out his hand, Sansa did not hesitate taking it in fear that he might punish her if she showed any sign of insolence. As soon as their hands touched, the king pulled her down to the bed by yanking her hard. She sat in front of him now, opening her mouth to say her apologies but then he cut her off.

"Do you still bleed?" he asked.

There was no concern in his voice that she could detect but she answered as truthfully as she could. "The wounds have healed quite all right, Your Grace."

"I didn't mean those," he gripped her wrist now. "You could fall down the steps of Baelor for all I care." He saw the darkening of her expression as soon as he mentioned that dreadful place where he had her father's head chopped off for all King's Landing to see. As she expected, his lips twisted into a gleeful smile.

Still gripping her wrist, his other hand reached for her and stopped on top of her thigh. "I meant if you're still tainted with moon blood."

"No longer, Your Grace." Sansa answered and tried not to make another sound. Joffrey stared into her eyes as the fingers on her thigh moved like he was petting her.

"I was hoping you'd visit me while I was confined here. But you didn't. What kind of betrothed are you?" As he scolded her, his nails dug slightly into the fabric of her gown. "You'd best heed my command, my lady, seeing as you are the reason I was bedridden. If you have been a good girl, I never would have hurt you."

"Yes, Your Grace, I'm very sorry." Slowly, she found her hand reaching to touch him on his knee. He looked at it, completely disinterested, but she continued. "I was a stupid girl. I deserved all the beatings. You were showing me how to be good, I know that, Your Grace." She squeezed her hand on his knee slightly.

He scoffed but he looked convinced. He let her wrist go but his other hand stayed on her thigh. He swept her face by cupping her chin. He leaned closer, whispering with malevolent pretense. "Did you miss me, Sansa?"

"Yes, very much so."

He looked happy about that but in the most grotesque way possible. He moved his hand higher and Sansa closed her eyes. His fingers brushed into her in a manner that made her want to light herself down there on fire. Taking his other hand from her chin, he cupped one of her breasts this time. He squeezed it quite painfully.

"Funny," he remarked. "You still look and feel like a little girl."

With both hands now, he tugged her gown down to reveal her chest. It was a good thing she had small clothes underneath. She was tempted to cover herself and protest but she was more than familiar with his ways, especially when he had that cruel look in his eyes. "What do you think, dog? Doesn't she look as flat as a wall?" He laughed then.

The Hound didn't speak or look at her. She was grateful for that.

"Oh, but your skin…" Joffrey's index finger moved across her neck, tracing it as if he was holding a blade against it. He could be imagining that as well.

Joffrey scoffed again. "My future wife and queen…"

Suddenly, he gripped her throat. Sansa struggled to keep her breathing even. Joffrey stared at her and for a moment he looked thoughtful. He loosened his grip and leaned forward to kiss her lips. She closed her eyes, unable to bear looking at his face. He had both hands on her neck now as he hardened the kiss and forced his tongue into her mouth. She had no choice but to part her lips.

When it was over, Joffrey looked at the Hound and said. "Take her away. I have to get ready for the small council meeting."

Sansa took that as a cue to stand. She pulled up her gown and realized that she had to lace it up from behind again but she said nothing to indicate that discomfort. Joffrey watched her for a while before he took her by the wrist again and said in a gentle voice. "I'll look for you in court tonight. I was told that Stannis will be upon us six hours from now, and you should see me off." He smirked. "And put some color in your face. Whores are much more pleasant to look at than you."

"I will, Your Grace." Sansa curtsied and then the Hound pulled her away.

They walked outside the king's chambers together with the Hound trailing behind her. When they turned to a corner, Sansa began to whimper silently to herself, feeling the disgrace all over her body as she tried to hold the gown together with her arms pressed against her chest. She stopped on her tracks and then turned around to say something to the Hound; a courteous comment about his kindness, perhaps, but instead found herself leaning towards him with her face resting on his armor all of a sudden. She controlled her sobs as hard as she could but she still whimpered. She could feel the terror pulsing in her fingertips.

She wondered why he hadn't pushed her away but was quite thankful he didn't. She found her hands gripping him on the shoulders, and only realized it when he let out a small growl to express that this must be a nuisance. Sansa pulled away then and apologized quickly. Afterwards she wiped away the tears from her cheeks and hurriedly held her gown before it slips off from her torso again.

"I beg your pardon. I didn't know what came over me."

But she knew exactly what it was. For months now she was able to handle the Kingsguard pounding at her as often as they could on Joffrey's orders but now that it was the king himself who touched her with such gruesome intent—it made her more afraid of the night when they finally become man and wife. When he kissed her earlier, it felt like boiling water was poured down her throat, cutting off every ounce of breath from her body. And when his hand squeezed and fondled her—

Sansa let out another whimper and turned away. But the Hound grabbed her wrist and made her look at his face. She allowed herself to gaze upon those burns and saw that the eyes looking back at her were sadder than she expected.

"Go back to your cage and rest, little bird," he remarked.

Sansa managed to smile at him. With her other hand, she reached out to touch his cheek. She forgot the state of her dress but the Hound didn't. He flinched away and let her go, avoiding her gaze. "Back to the cage, you!" he growled.

Exposed again, Sansa pulled up her gown. And then she heard a voice.

"I was hoping to run into you," the queen regent approached, her face more solemn than ever. When she saw the Hound, she gave him a steady glare and he walked off immediately without another word. Sansa gripped her gown against her until Cersei Lannister noticed.

"Did my son play too roughly with you again?" she inquired.

Sansa said nothing.

"Turn around. Let me lace you up."

Hesitantly, Sansa did what was asked of her. The queen regent touched her hair with a certain coldness she took notice of. As she laced her, Sansa tried not to think about her mother but it was impossible not to. The queen regent was the closest thing she had for a mother here at Red Keep. _That was depressing,_ Sansa realized. It's only obvious that Cersei Lannister never really cared for her. She may be kind now but the winds are fickle when it came to the Lannisters.

_But Tyrion is always kind to me. He really tries even if he doesn't have to be._

Sansa froze.

Tyrion? She meant _Lord_ Tyrion. Tyrion Lannister. _Never forget who he is._

"Are you scared, little dove?"

Sansa turned around and nodded. "Winter has come. But it comes all the time, and always much worse than the last." She regretted saying that out loud but it transformed the queen regent's face into a softer expression. But not for long.

"When the battle begins, you are to stay with me." Cersei Lannister explained. "We will also be accompanied by the noble women of this proud city. We each have a role to fulfill especially in war." She paused. "Have you ever worn armor, Sansa?"

She shook her head.

The queen regent smiled then. "I think you should try one. You best protect that body of yours since it contains the most fragile heart I've ever seen."

* * *

Tyrion spent the earlier part of afternoon with Shae while Sansa Stark was with her music teacher. They lay in his bed, draped in blankets and content in each other's embrace for a while before she had to leave him again.

Joffrey and Varys visited his chambers right after the small council meeting which he purposely got himself uninvited to. This was truly annoying but he knew he has to face this little shit of a king sooner or later.

"I was hoping to benefit from your counsel earlier, uncle." Joffrey spoke first. His gait was confident but Tyrion could see through it. The boy has a bit of fear in him now after what happened days ago. He best remember that occasion then, but Tyrion certainly wouldn't mind reminding him about it again in case he forgets. Still, it was curious that he hadn't retaliated from the beating he had gotten. Tyrion thought of the worst. He considered that Joffrey was going to let this pass, since he was to marry the Stark girl anyway and that will give him plenty of time to do whatever he pleases with her. With that dark thought in mind, Tyrion decided to pour himself a cup. Wine could always calm him. "I was preoccupied with other preparations," he answered the king as politely as he could manage even if the shit doesn't deserve it.

"Inside this murky tower you call a room?" Joffrey glanced around, obviously disgusted by the atmosphere. The boy had always enjoyed color and flashy things.

"Perhaps we should take this conversation out in the sun?" Varys offered.

"Agreed," Joffrey stepped forward to the table separating him from Tyrion, and dangled a goblet in front of his uncle as a gesture to pour him some wine as well. Tyrion raised an eyebrow at his nephew but did what was asked nonetheless.

The three of them walked down four flights of stairs, barely saying anything to each other except for Joffrey who carried the goblet of wine with him, sipping it once in a while as he made a comment about some forgotten ritualistic killings of Targaryens during the old days. He would remark these things offhandedly, sometimes not really caring if either of them listened to him. Varys, however, grunted once in a while to show that he was paying attention while Tyrion was far more focused on avoiding the irregularities of some steps on the staircase so he won't slip to care about what his nephew was saying. He was also feeling rather sluggish.

_Must be the wine…_

When they reached the end, Joffrey hurried to the nearest balcony, still mumbling on about history. When he turned around, he had an unmistakable grin, probably from relishing the thought of murder and death that's about to transpire tonight. Tyrion inwardly rolled his eyes at his nephew while he watched the boy finished his cup of wine. He then threw the goblet somewhere and began to speak in an excited way that irritated Tyrion to no end.

"The preparations are long overdue. Everything is in place, I take it? Yes. Yes. I've always wanted to soak my sword with the blood of that infidel uncle of mine and the rest of his armies. Their treason will be punished very soon. The night would be a terrifying endeavor for those fools! Ha!" He then took out his sword from his waistband and swung it around. He moved forward to stab at the air and then stepped back to admire the sharpness of his sword. Joffrey stared into the gleam of the blade and looked lost in its appearance for a while.

Varys exchanged a look with Tyrion which expressed how both men felt equally anxious not only for the developments unfolding before them but also of the king's foolish and maniacal behavior in dealing with their impending doom.

Tyrion cleared his throat and remarked. "Be that as it may, we should be more than well-equipped for any attempts of siege on the city."

"If my Uncle Stannis lands on the shores of King's Landing, I'll ride out to greet him." Joffrey grinned, sheathing his sword back in his waistband.

"A brave choice, Your Grace." Tyrion answered. He fixed his pin absentmindedly. "I'm sure your men will line up behind you."

Joffrey scoffed and looked down on Tyrion as he remarked. "They say Stannis never smiles." He then placed his hand above the hilt of his sword once more and pulled it out slightly just so the two men can see the blade. "I'll give him a red smile from ear to ear." And then he laughed as he walked away from them.

Now Tyrion really rolled his eyes at that. "Imagine Stannis' terror."

"I am trying." Varys quickly replied.

Tyrion tried to step back from the growing commotion happening within the city walls and thought about tonight. He found himself curiously at peace about it. This was odd itself, considering he was supposed to be the second in-charge for the battle tonight yet his last encounter in a battlefield was pitiful at most. He got knocked down on his head as soon as the Stormcrows came marching towards Robb Stark's army. Father was gravely disapproving with his youngest son's lack of participation (which was not his fault) but he was hardly surprised about it either. Tyrion wasn't particularly squeamish about blood or killing however, seeing that he had once bludgeoned a barbarian to death when Catelyn Stark had taken him hostage and led him to the dangerous mountains. It doesn't mean he was that eager about the prospect of putting a sword through men, at least not as rabid as the boy king.

Thinking about the Starks and their unfortunate relationship with death reminded him about Sansa again. He remembered the way her eyes inspected him with a wakeful desperation nights before when she boldly proclaimed suicide. He remembered the way she would tremble in his touch each time he held her hand, and the nights she had slept in his bed, with her beautiful red hair sweeping across his sheets. He could never forget the moment when she wrapped her arms around him after a nightmare ravaged her, and how he felt her heart against his, as if he could just reach in and hold it for himself. Her skin was always warm and icy—and her breath was so sweet back when they almost kissed. He recalled that incident the most vividly of all. It was a kiss she only offered to test him, but she never would have known at that time how easily it would be for her to break him.

Tyrion wanted to forget the ways she makes him feel whenever they're near each other. He wanted to forget that despite sensible intentions, he wanted to be her dashing knight on a tall horse. A silly illusion, he knew, but one he wished could come true if it could save the fourteen-year old broken thing that is Sansa Stark.

_I'm not as bad as the rest of them,_ she says.

He now rested his palms over the edge of the stone balcony, looking over the endless stretch of sea as he talked about many things with Varys that may be too revealing, especially since he shouldn't dare trust the spider. Varys offered well-meant insights and compliments about his skill in the game. In comparison to honorable men like Ned Stark and Jon Arryn who despised the game and the players. Tyrion knew he excelled in the game of thrones.

"Not bad for a glorified plumber of Casterly Rock," he added with a smirk.

Varys also offered information about the troubling rumors from across the other side of the world. Dragons, he remarked, born out of the unburnt mother Daenerys Targaryen. Tyrion laughed it off though he still weighed the authenticity of such story afterwards.

Still, he put aside the possibility of magic and dragons for now. They have no place to occupy his bearings at this time.

After all, the night of siege was coming closer as he stood there with an ally he couldn't trust, and there are more terrors to defeat, one game at a time.

* * *

Sansa tried her hand on writing a song that afternoon, hoping it would take her mind off from tonight's events. Shae was standing beside her, changing her sheets and then working her way across the room with a broom. When they first met, Shae was completely clueless about everything that entails a handmaid's work. Now she was handling every chore with a graceful and precise manner that ofttimes surprised yet pleased Sansa. It also helped that they were friends now.

While humming a tune to herself, Sansa briefly imagined what Lord Tyrion would say if he heard her sing again and it made her feel queasy just thinking about that. He's slowly making his way into the tough shell where her soft places dwelt. It should be as bad as it sounds but the exact nature of her feelings has gotten more difficult to sort through, especially on their newfound 'friendship'.

_How could I ever be friends with a Lannister?_

Not long ago she chose Queen Cersei and her son Joffrey over her father. Would she be stupid enough to do the same thing with Lord Tyrion?

_He claims to care about me. But so did Joffrey once._

"What are you writing?" Shae approached and leaned slightly against Sansa's chair, "I thought you're supposed to be doing arithmetic?"

"I don't think it would matter if I finish it right now," she replied candidly. "There's a battle for our lives tonight. I think Septa Mordane could understand if I'm not able to finish my equations."

"Do you think so?" Shae began to play with her hair. "I think that woman would want you to finish, even if there's an earthquake, typhoon, and war happening at the same time around you. She's very severe that way, isn't she?"

Sansa knew she was only jesting, but there is a grain of truth to her statement.

"My eyes are tired." She remarked. "I should sleep for a while."

"Is that a song?" Shae kept asking.

As if ashamed, Sansa folded the paper neatly and placed it inside one of her sleeves. "It's not yet done. I'll sing it to you when it is, I promise."

"I heard from Podrick you and Lord Tyrion sang a song together."

Sansa could feel herself blush.

She could feel Shae whisper on her ear as her chin rested gently above her shoulder. "Could it be you're falling in love with Tyrion Lannister?"

"Don't be absurd!" Sansa snapped, embarrassed. "He is kind to me, that's all. I'm to marry the king. It's treason for me to engage with another man. Besides, I don't think Lord Tyrion sees me in that light."

_Liar. _

Shae said nothing for a moment and then she remarked. "You're awfully defensive for someone who claims the thought did not cross your mind."

"Shae!" Sansa turned to meet her handmaid's gaze. "It's gross misconduct to talk me about such things! You forget your place, maid."

As soon as she uttered the phrase, she regretted it.

"I'm sorry, my lady." Shae answered, emphasizing the courtesy which somewhat hurt Sansa's ears. "Forget I said anything." Then she turned away.

Sansa bit down her lower lip. She could not have this fight with Shae, not ever. She's the closest thing she had to a sister, especially now that her real sister may not be alive. Sansa slowly reached out to take Shae's hand. "I didn't mean to say that. I'm sorry. I'm just…" _scared._ "I'm just really tired. It's been a long day." And all my days have been that way, with little to no comfort of sunlight and play, until my lessons with the septas, and the fact that you're always here for me. "I never appreciate you as much as you deserve, Shae."

Her handmaid squeezed her hand without preamble. She didn't have to say anything. Sansa pulled her hand close to her cheek, allowing its warmth to console her. In return, Shae had placed her other hand on top of her head as if in blessing.

They stayed like that for a while until Shae gently pulled away and told her to get rested because she does look like she needed it. Once in bed, Sansa reluctantly told her about her meeting with Joffrey and Shae seemed particularly savage about remarking on it, saying words which Sansa was terrified for anyone to hear outside.

"He is the king," Sansa reasoned out.

"So he can do what he pleases all the time? Especially with you?"

Sansa closed her eyes, already feeling light-headed. "I am to be his wife."

"And when you are queen, you should have him poisoned."

Sansa's eyes opened and widened with that outrageous suggestion. "Please say no more of this. I'm afraid these walls have ears."

Shae scoffed and laid beside her, looking into her eyes as if it's her way to unravel. "It's not going to be easy, you know, sharing his bed."

Sansa said nothing. She didn't want to think about it, let alone talk about it.

"Do you know what happens when a man beds you?"

"You…spread your legs for him," Sansa whispered.

"Yes," Shae brushed some hair from Sansa's face. "What else?"

"You lie there and it will hurt at first. Then there's blood."

"But it will feel good too."

"Not with Joffrey."

"No. And it will also hurt a lot more, and not just in your first."

"And lots of blood." Sansa shivered and decided to pull the blankets tightly around her. "Joffrey likes to make me bleed."

Shae watched her for a while before she said. "At least when you're pregnant he wouldn't have you beaten up now, would he?"

Sansa blinked away the tears that were forming. Her handmaid went on. "But he might beat your children if they displease him."

"No," Sansa choked out the single word with a conviction that she could even feel at the back of her throat. "He will not hurt my children."

"You can't prevent that. He is the king."

Sansa narrowed her eyes at Shae. She is testing me.

"And I am his wife. When I'm queen, I will have him poisoned if any of his knights or he himself would dare raise a hand to my children."

The words tasted bitter as she spoke them but they sounded and felt right for her all the same. For the first time she understood her mother's grief when the Lannisters crippled Bran. She could see why such love could change a woman like Cersei Lannister into one so filled with wrath that she becomes capable of taking someone's life by her hand. It frightened Sansa to think of these things because she knew they could as easily come true once she experienced motherhood herself. She closed her eyes again, unable to bear the epiphany for too long.

Shae must have realized her distress because she didn't say anything anymore and simply run her fingers through her hair, and the touch eventually lulled Sansa to a most deserved slumber.

* * *

The night approaches steadily from within the walls of Red Keep as Tyrion watched Cersei put on her armor. He had abstained from his share of wine for two hours now, more than determined to clear his mind from any distraction and crippling indulgences. It meant not thinking about Shae or the Stark girl. It also meant refusing Cersei when she offered him a cup which is actually smart, considering his sister may have poisoned the wine to begin with. With only half an hour away from battle, he decided to visit her chambers to see her to the shelter where all the other noble women are gathered. It was his duty as the Hand and a brother after all. And now he sat across her, staring in a way that he knew would be off-putting for the queen regent. Cersei was clothed in her usual garb of red but this time she had put an armor made of gold and it fitted her body in a ridiculously beautiful way as he hated himself for noticing. There were odd moments between them over the years when Cersei would express concern over Tyrion that did not stem from vile contempt or sadistic amusement. Such times have become extinct.

Cersei delivered her most inhumane blow yet last night, when she had a whore she has mistaken to be Tyrion's personal companion whipped. The momentary relief that Shae was unharmed wasn't enough to curb Tyrion's wrath at that moment. He had sworn to his sister that her joy will turn to ashes in her mouth someday and he meant it so much that it was starting to bleed his insides just thinking about it.

It had never been possible between them. There was never a time or a place in their lives that love was possible to happen. Tyrion understood that now. But here they are, sharing a breathing space once more, and held together by their respective armors as if it could ever make a difference in the world. And both are still capable of hurting each other though bereft of any love for the other.

"Keep my son safe if you desire to see the sun rise on the morrow." She turned to face him, and in that glorious armor that accentuated her yellow hair that glowed against the candlelit room, Tyrion pondered if Cersei looked like their mother but any sort of resemblance was fleeting because he knew from tales growing up that Joanna Lannister was not the cruel sort of matriarch that his sister was.

"If and when you're done admiring yourself in the mirror, shall we move you to the shelter, dearest sister?" Tyrion was already out of his chair.

Cersei chuckled as she reached out for her goblet. She finished the wine with one gulp but held onto the cup just the same. She nodded at her handmaid who obediently carried the new bottle as Cersei walked ahead towards the door. Tyrion kept his distance from her as they walked across the throne room. There were soldiers and servants running around the halls, every one of them preparing for the onslaught and siege that could happen any minute now.

Bronn was standing still by himself and as soon as Tyrion reached him, the stink of wine wafted from him.

"By gods, is everyone drunk before the killing has yet to begin?"

"You mean everyone but you?" The sellsword grinned at him and glanced at his sister, hardly changing the gleeful expression he had on.

"Abstinence," Tyrion managed to say directly even if hearing the word coming from him was enough to make him grab a bottle or eat a cunt from where he stood.

Bronn was obviously not buying it but he only snickered. He addressed Cersei this time when he said. "A troubling time, my lady. I pray for your safety."

If Tyrion didn't need a drink before, watching this interaction between his sellsword and hateful sibling was motivation enough.

"You are most kind," Cersei didn't miss a beat when she responded. "I'm well-protected with Ser Illyn by my side. I also have an armor on and some wine to keep me sane." She raised her goblet for effect and there was even a smile on her lips.

"Hopefully both are enough, eh?" Bronn answered, grinning that grin again.

A second passed between them and they mostly just held each other's gaze as if it was a normal gesture between a noble woman and a sellsword, and it made Tyrion uncomfortable for many reasons he was too disgusted about to explain.

"Come, Cersei," he found his voice but Bronn was already stepping out of the way so Cersei could advance forward and she didn't even bother waiting for Tyrion, and he honestly couldn't give a shit either. So he stayed behind, glaring at Bronn.

"You know, I often underestimate what a beautiful creature your sister is—"

"I will have your tongue ripped out if you mention that in my presence again."

Bronn snickered again. He is so easily amused that Tyrion sometimes wondered if everything else is a joke to him.

"Best of luck to you, my friend."

"Oh, we're friends now, are we?"

Tyrion let out a sigh of exasperation. "Most probably not."

"If you treat all your whores with this kind of attitude then I can understand why not a lot of them stay around unless you enhance the payment of gold."

"So you're admitting it. You're my whore." Tyrion now smiled. "And 'enhance'? Such a fancy word for a man like you."

"Been hanging around fancy folks." Bronn stepped away from him then, a smile in place and then he turned his back and approached no other than Sansa Stark and Shae who were walking together. He bowed before them as he left and Tyrion almost laughed aloud at the sight of it. It was cut short when he saw

Sansa Stark looking at his direction. He felt compelled to walk towards her.

"My lady…" he paused and then looked at Shae. "Sheila, is it?"

"It's Shae, my lord."

"Give us a moment, would you?"

Shae shot him a look that he didn't understand but she did what was asked.

"I wasn't able to see you for a few days. Hand business, you see." Tyrion tried to smile but he couldn't bring himself to. "I hope your lessons are keeping you occupied." He paused, not knowing what else to say. Sansa just looked at him, the fingers from both her hands crossed together in front of her. She looked calm in that stance but her eyes have a way of betraying her sometimes and right now she was scared. Tyrion wanted to take her hand then, but decided against it.

"Thank you," she remarked but she didn't specify what for this time.

"For my kindness?" he offered.

"For everything," Sansa answered. She loosened her fingers at last and placed her hands before her. Tyrion felt a smile coming and he didn't resist. His hand was reaching for hers as well. To his surprise, she was meeting him halfway.

As soon as their hands touched, the grip felt comforting enough to believe that there are some impossible things in the world that may not be what they seemed to be after all. Tyrion raised his eyes at Sansa and still perceived the fear written in her face. He squeezed her hand tight, as if to say that he will do anything in his power to make sure she will never have another sad day again. But vows as such were meant to be broken. She was the crown's prisoner, and he was one of her wardens, whether he wanted to be or not. But Tyrion tried to be something else for her at that moment, something she needed more than she will ever admit.

"Don't be afraid," he spoke softly with tenderness few had experienced from him.

Sansa didn't say anything but her lips quivered a bit. She squeezed back. He couldn't believe it, but he held on to her just the same.

"My lord," she finally spoke up at last. "I wrote a song about Ser Dunk today."

"Have you?" Tyrion could feel himself brightening up.

Sansa smiled sheepishly, lowering her voice. "It's unfinished. You might not like it when it's done, though."

"You should let me decide that for myself," he grinned, letting her hand go. It wasn't awkward or forced anymore, and for the first time since many weeks ago, he was getting the sense that it was becoming more and more friendly between them.

Sansa just nodded, placing her hands together once more. "I shall pray for you while you're in battle, Lord Tyrion."

"Would you?" he inquired, raising his eyebrow as if to tease her.

"Sansa!" Joffrey called out from somewhere behind them.

Tyrion saw the immediate change in Sansa's expression as soon as she heard her husband-to-be beckoning her.

"As I would pray for my beloved King Joffrey," she answered quickly then turned away. Tyrion would have applauded the graceful way she gathered herself. He watched her walk towards the boy king for a moment and then he shook his head in amusement and began to walk toward the gates.

* * *

"Look, my lady," Joffrey held the sword in sight with both hands and he laid it on his palms like it was made of silk. "You know Hearteater, don't you?"  
Sansa cautiously took a step closer. "Yes, she is beautiful, Your Grace."

"You think it's a girl?" He looked amused. "I suppose it's poetic for it to be a woman. But Hearteater is a man. His stabbing in battle will prove that."

Sansa tried a smile but it felt wrong in her face. But Joffrey is watching her closely so she had to hold on a little longer. He nodded his head at her and she understood that he wanted her to touch it. She cautiously placed her finger on the blade and rubbed it slightly. "Do you like it?" the king asked.

"Very much, Your Grace."

Joffrey stared right into her. "Kiss it."

She blinked at him and felt that familiar banging on her chest again. Sansa bent herself down and leaned close so she could put her lips on the blade. When the contact was established, she felt just how sharp it was, and for a moment she felt tempted to wince away. But Joffrey gripped her head in place all of a sudden.

"More kisses, my lady," he commanded. "Make sure you get to the tip."

Sansa panicked inside but she still tried her very best to regain control over her emotions. Aware of the tension knotting in her stomach, she kissed the blade gently and slowly until she reached the tip where she almost felt it sting her lips. Joffrey was chuckling darkly above her and as most probably enjoying her distress. He pulled his hand away and she was able to stand straight again at last but her breath was still caught up in her throat. Joffrey smirked at her.

"I will make you kiss it again once it's drenched with blood."

"Will you fight at the vanguard?" she asked, keeping her fingers interlaced before her. "From what I can understand, it's the front of the battle lines. If Your

Grace wishes to see action up close…"

"Don't tell me what to do!" He protested. "Besides, I don't consult stupid girls with my plans for battle. You stupid whore!"

Unfazed, Sansa managed a small smile. "Yes, Your Grace, you're right. I'm so stupid. Of course, you'll be fighting at the vanguard." She paused and then thought of something. "When he was young, my brother Robb used to pretend he's leading an army into battle and he always takes his position at the vanguard."

Hearing her speak her brother's name, Joffrey's expression immediately soured. He pointed the sword right at Sansa's stomach and a silence so deadly hovered between them for a moment until he spoke again. "I will chop his head off myself, your traitor cunt of a brother, and have you lick his blood off the blade."

Sansa watched him and felt an interesting calmness wash over her. "If that's the case, then you won't be using Hearteater then?" she asked. "I suppose it only makes sense. That sword isn't thick enough to accomplish the deed."

The last statement actually meant something else before she could even realize it herself. Joffrey was about to retort but the Hound walked forward to tell him that the battle formation is about to start.

"I will pray for your safe return, my love." Sansa managed to say in the sweetest way she could muster and then she leaned closer to Joffrey and kissed his cheek. When she pulled away, Joffrey grabbed the back of her head again and forced his mouth upon hers. She struggled to stay still though the sword was so close to her left hand that she could almost take it away from him and…

Joffrey let her go and shoved her away, grinning one last time before he turned around and walked away with the Hound. Sansa stood there, completely shaken to her very core, but she still watched him until he disappeared into view.

Shae walked over to her. "Many of those boys will not make it back."

"Joffrey will," Sansa answered with a newfound serenity, her fingers interlaced in front of her once more. "The worst ones always do."

* * *

The sound of horns blared outside but it traveled within the castle walls as well, and Sansa listened to it closely, imagining it was a call from the direwolves, beckoning and guiding her back to Winterfell. She smiled when she began to recall Ser Dunk and his adventures, and for the first time in months, she allowed herself to dream again of better days while the war approached the city.

"Little dove!" The queen regent was sitting away from the other noble women and lowborn girls, a stunning vision in a red gown and golden armor. Sansa glanced at her and saw the way she gulped down her drink for the seventh time tonight.

"Come, Sansa, I want to talk."

She approached Cersei Lannister, cautious of everything around her as she sat down to partake in whatever conversation she had in store.

"Pour her a cup," the queen regent ordered her handmaid.

As soon as the wine touched Sansa's lips, she felt the strong desire to spit it out but Cersei watched her so she was forced to empty the contents quickly.

"Can you handle your drink well, little dove?"

Sansa shook her head.

"Do I frighten you?"

She decided to change the subject. "Your armor looks splendid, Your Grace."

"You're full of shit, you know that, don't you?"

Sansa looked down at her lap, toying with the goblet between her hands. When she spoke again, she held her ground this time. "We should ask the women to join us in prayer, Your Grace, to help them feel safe."

"Prayer? Whatever for?"

"They're under your protection," Sansa explained. "Isn't that why we're here? Aside from taking shelter and to wait for the king and his men to win the battle?"

"I've told you earlier that we all have roles to fulfill," Cersei crossed her legs in front of her. "And I've gathered all these hens so when their cocks come back from war, they will sing songs of how generous and kind I was to them."

"But you do intend to show them kindness, don't you?" Sansa looked at the queen regent with a baffled expression.

"Sweet little dove who loves people too easily." Cersei cooed. "The more you do that, child, the weaker you become." She drank from her goblet again, smacked her lips together and then added. "If you want to rule someday, you must pander to lowlifes and the whores once in a while. But they should never forget their place and that is on the ground, worshipping you from above." She chuckled.

_Then I would rather serve than rule._ Sansa placed down her cup on the ground. "I really must see to them, Your Grace. A prayer circle might help them."

"Oh, you're so perfect all the time, aren't you, Sansa Stark?" The queen regent pointed the goblet at her the way Joffrey did with his sword earlier. "Praying. Singing songs. Dreaming about knights and flowers and shitty little fairy tales."

Sansa had already stood up by then, trying not to meet her gaze.

"You think yourself pure and incorruptible but you will always be known as the traitor's spawn." The queen regent held out the goblet to her handmaid so she could fill it with wine again. She kept talking. "But you've flowered and now you're ready to be plucked! Do you know what happens to a city under siege, Sansa?"

"Your Grace," Sansa began, noticing that some of the women are now listening to them. They all look small and terrified.

"If the city should fall, these women will be raped." Cersei finished. "You see, this is why I have Ser Illyn with us, little dove."

Sansa can hardly look at the executioner, the King's justice, who had chopped her father's head off from a lifetime ago.

"If by off chance we don't make it out in time for me to request a private audience with Stannis, then I'd rather die by the blade of my servant than be passed around and feasted upon by the soldiers. Won't you like the same thing?"

_'Have you ever been fucked, little girl?'_ Sansa could hear the words ringing in her ears. She remembered the nightmare about the ghouls clawing at her chest.

"Please, Your Grace." Sansa begged. "They're all scared." She meant the women.

"Pick up your cup and drink with me, little dove."

Sansa did what was asked of her if that will keep the queen regent from saying any more horrible things. When she gulped down the wine for the second time, she tried to forget about every terror she has experienced since arriving to King's Landing and focused on her image of Ser Dunk, on Septa Cora's songs, the arithmetic assignment she had to answer on the morrow—

—and Lord Tyrion. She wished she had him right now to hold her again.

Admitting that to herself made her choke out the wine. She was left with no choice but to spit it out. Cersei laughed.

"Try to keep up with me, Sansa!" she had her own goblet filled again.

"I'm sorry, Your Grace," Sansa replied. She looked around to see the women and girls huddled together, the unmistakable apprehension written in their faces.

Sansa needed to comfort them. If Cersei Lannister won't, then she should. She knows of the horrors all these women are going through and she would have them spared.

_I would rather serve than rule._

Before she could express her thoughts towards the queen regent, Ser Lancel Lannister came barging from the door. He must have been in the middle of the battle for she saw him covered in cuts and some bruises. He sheathed his sword as he approached his cousin. "Your Grace," he began. "We need the king back. The soldiers are losing their hope. They have no king beside them to fight for."

Sansa watched Ser Lancel carefully. What did he mean by that? Joffrey is not with them? She looked at Cersei Lannister and shuddered from the glare she offered her cousin. "Get my son." She told the handmaid. Ser Lancel looked relieved but then the queen regent added. "Not the king. I meant Tommen."

"Please, I beseech you, Cersei," Ser Lancel stepped forward. "You can't keep him in his room while men outside are dying for his name. We need him to lead!"

"He is a child!" Cersei shouted back, pushing him away. "I will not have him killed for the sake of, what? Leadership? He is a boy of fifteen. I must protect him!"

Sansa stood up herself and couldn't believe what she's hearing. Suddenly nothing mattered to her anymore, not even her life in that brief second. She looked around her and saw only tears and heartache from the women and girls who might never see their husbands, fathers and brothers again. She looked at Cersei Lannister and hated her with an overwhelming force that she forgot her courtesies and said. "If you send any more men to their deaths, then contend yourself to rule over mass graves, Your Grace, because you and your son will be queen and king of ashes!"

Cersei Lannister had hit her and Sansa didn't see it coming so she was not able to avoid it. Her head was thrown to the side with her cheek bruising from the contact. "And so the traitor's spawn speaks her mind at last!" The queen regent reached out for her, probably to hurt her again, but Sansa backed away slightly to a safe distance where she found Shae was already behind her, one hand on hers.

The handmaid brought the boy Tommen and Cersei Lannister grabbed him and ignored her cousin, pushing her way from the crowds of women who have gathered around to see what the commotion is about. As soon as the mother and son reached the door, the queen regent glanced back at Sansa and said. "I envy that bleeding heart of yours. I can see it from where I stand. Know that it will be your downfall."

Sansa had lost it by now. "Better a heart that bleeds than one that has stopped beating altogether like yours," she shot back.

Cersei Lannister's scowl deepened but she said nothing and focused on getting her youngest son out of there. Ser Lancel followed suit.

Numbed from the unexpected confrontation, Sansa squeezed Shae's hand for support. She turned around to face the women and the girls, and saw herself through them because of what she felt right now. Their pain reflected hers, magnifying it.

At that moment, she realized what she had to do.

* * *

"Where is the king?" one of the bannermen shouted.

Another one shouted loud and clear. "Who are we fighting for?"

Tyrion stood above the rest of them, feeling all the more helpless as the minutes went by. Joffrey had been gone for half an hour now after Ser Lancel took him to his chambers under the orders of his fool of a sister. This happened right after Sandor Clegane told the boy king to fuck himself and deserted them, something Tyrion never thought the dog was capable of, considering Joffrey had been his master since the king was a baby. Things have darkened at a steady pace since then until it was Ser Lancel who was nowhere to be found, and the men have noticed the absences of those they were supposed to look up to and die for.

Here they gathered below him, ready to run off as well, seeing that their cause had abandoned them first.

"Who will lead us?" Someone shouted and Tyrion searched for the person in the crowd of disgruntled soldiers but he didn't find have to find him because he saw that they are all asking the same thing within themselves.

Something equally primitive stirred inside him. He stepped forward, ignoring the baffled expression on his squire's face when he told Pod. "I will lead the attack."

He turned to the bannermen. "I will lead the attack!" he shouted at them.

He heard laughter, a dismissive sound, followed by some of the men walking out, already sheathing their swords. It wasn't authority that kept Tyrion standing firmly on his ground. It was a sense of duty, he believed. It wasn't duty to the crown. His allegiance to his family was never a patriotic one. It was as personal as it can get, but no matter how much he sweats and bleeds for the family, he never got any compensation for it. Until now. He is Hand to the King, and the king has turned craven and left all these men—these husbands, fathers, brothers and sons—to face death without honor. They would either die without a sensible cause or go home in shame, or worse, be punished for not taking arms at all in a war they no longer believed in. He needed them strong. He needed them to fight. Not for Joffrey or the Lannister name, but for themselves. Tyrion took a deep breath then and shouted. "They say I'm half a man. But what does that make the lot of you?"

"They're at the gates. There's no way out." One responded, a boy of sixteen or seventeen who looked up at Tyrion, obviously scared but still gripping his sword.

"There's another way," Tyrion answered back. "I will show you."

A loud banging from the wooden gates beside them continued on, with their enemies on the other side ready to slay them all. That gate can't hold up much longer. Tyrion took another deep breath. This is when Pod stepped beside him, offering him an axe. Tyrion took it and saw that he was already holding a lance himself, a look for grim determination in his face. He found himself smiling at his squire then, recognizing his bravery, knowing that they could all be brave, all these fathers, husbands, brothers and sons, if they knew there was something to be brave for. Tyrion knew what it should be and they had to know it was worth it.

"Don't fight for your king and don't fight for his kingdoms," he began. "Don't fight for honor. Don't fight for glory. Don't fight for riches because you won't get any. This is your city Stannis means to sack!" He pointed to the side. "That's your gate he's ramming. If he gets in, it will be your houses he burns, your gold he steals, your women he will rape!" He saw their faces lighting up, and they listened to him with all their might. He saw many of them grip their swords. He saw them hardened right before his eyes. Tyrion looked across them some more and saw how much they feared for everything that awaits them in the battlefield.  
Standing above them and looking across what lay ahead, he felt taller than he ever thought he could be.

He felt could feel his eyes moist up but he smiled at himself a little as he clutched his axe. The grip helped him find his strength. "Don't be afraid," he told the bannermen and himself. "Those are brave men knocking on our door. Now let's go kill them!"

* * *

Sansa still gripped Shae's hand with hers, finding strength as she did.

"Don't be afraid," she smiled at the women. "The queen just left to raise the drawbridge. This is the safest place we can be. Joffrey's not hurt. He's fighting bravely. His knights have railed behind. They will save the city."

For a moment she believed what she said was true when she saw all of them smiling back at her, wiping their tears. "Shall we sing a hymn?" she offered.  
She stepped before them, her hands reaching. They reached back at her, holding her close to them. The warmth of their skin and the light in their eyes made

Sansa want to disappear in them forever. Without thinking any more of the war, she found herself singing for them. The song drifted into the air, and its melody seemed to engulf the space between her and the women, beckoning them to share it. And they did. The shelter was filled with song, claimed in defiance by their hopeful hearts all bleeding in the name of their loved ones. Surrounded by the beauty of their dreams and prayers, Sansa could almost see Winterfell even with her eyes closed, even if she's standing a million miles away from the North.

She swore she could hear the direwolves and feel the familiar cold winds of the North caressing her cheeks. Oh, she could smell the scent of her mother's hair again whenever she would pull her and Arya into an embrace.

She felt someone tugging her arm and leading her away from the prayer circle. It was Shae. "You need to go. Lock yourself in your room."

"No!" Sansa protested, looking over at the women who are still singing. "I can't leave you. I can never leave them!"

"The doors will hold," Shae reassured her. "But you are a Stark and those ravaged men will consider you a prize if they get their hands on you."

"I'm not leaving!" Sansa felt her eyes watering. "Septa Mordane asked me to lock myself in my room when the soldiers came for my father, and I did what she asked. Now she's dead, exposed in the air on a spike because of me!"

Shae touched her cheek. "Shhh…"

"The queen said they would rape everyone."

"No one is raping me." Shae lifted her dress to reveal a knife tied by a string on her leg. "Now go, my lady. I will stay here to guard the women for you. Besides, I need to say goodbye to someone."

Sansa never got the chance to ask her who, because her handmaid was already pushing her towards the door. "Run," Shae said. "Tuck yourself away from all this darkness and put your heart where it will be safe."

* * *

Tyrion ran.

He didn't know if the men followed but he still ran ahead, gripping the axe with both hands and trying to see through his helmet for any sign of danger.

But he didn't stop running forward. That was when he saw one of Stannis' bannermen commanding orders at the boat where the soldiers are coming out as well. Tyrion knew what to do then. The man was the first one who got out of the boat and wasn't even aware of Tyrion's presence until it was too late. Tyrion supposed he had a sort of height disadvantage under these circumstances. He leaped forward, raising the axe slightly above his head and then he chopped off one of the man's legs and he went down screaming. Tyrion looked behind him and saw that the men have rallied after all. They all lurched forward at the boats, slicing and hacking at the enemies with everything they've got.

He tried to join them but found himself facing Ser Mandon.

"Let's go!" he told him but the kingsguard moved toward him instead. Tyrion paused when he saw the look in his eyes.

He tried to shield himself or raise his axe but Ser Mandon was better trained for this, and Tyrion's hands didn't obey him quickly enough to deter the blow.

The blade cut through his face and for a second he didn't feel the pain until he was lying on the ground, looking up at the dark skies that are smoldering with fiery arrows. He waited for the next blow but it didn't come.

Instead he looked to his side and saw his squire Pod with his lance buried deep behind Ser Mandon and the kingsguard fell to his knees and there was a hole in his armor where the lance burst through. Pod hurried to his side, lifting him, saying something but Tyrion could not hear the words.

_Shae, _he thought. The noises around him were mere whispers by now as he fought to keep his eyes open. Pod held him close and Tyrion swore he could see the boy was crying. _Crying for the imp. Silly Podrick._

He coughed and could literally taste the pain. He could feel the blood in his eyes, and the way his throat clogged as he felt himself choking.

His eyelids closed by themselves. He tried to remember Shae's face. He couldn't. But he saw Sansa Stark the moment the darkness took over.

Tyrion saw her arms outstretched for him, her vibrant red hair flowing around her. Those beautiful, beautiful, haunted eyes.

From a distance, he could hear the wolves cry.

* * *

There was no mistaking it when she heard that sound. It wasn't just in her imagination anymore. A wolf call, she thought and the reaction was almost visceral when she heard it. She bolted her doors and walked slowly towards the window.

_It's here for me._

"Little bird," she winced from that, knowing full well it was him who stood there in the corner even if her room was in darkness.

"Ser—" she was cut off when he moved forward and gripped her arm. "Please!"

"I told you before, little bird," She could feel his breath on her neck as soon as he turned her around so his arms were wrapped around her, his right arm raised beneath her chin while the other was on her waist. "I am no knight!"

"Please," she wasn't sure what to call him. There was no time for courtesies, however. "Sandor, please unhand me!" her voice shook as she tried to wriggle free.

"You're feeling brave now, little bird?" She could feel his lips on her hair. "Where is this courage whenever Joffrey would abuse you? Am I really that disgusting to you that you can't even stand being this close to me?"

"I'm not disgusted," Sansa answered but doubted the truth in her words nevertheless. "And you won't hurt me." He pushed her away then and she faced him.

"Why do you always say that?"

Sansa did not reply. Instead, she reached her hands to touch his face. The burns were particularly menacing with only the light from the window to reveal them. As soon as she touched him, the Hound's eyes changed. He looked…small in her grasp. Gone was the brute who was always ready to insult her naïve ways. The man looking back at her reminded her of the little boy whose brother shoved his face into the fire and scarred him for a lifetime. Sansa felt all kinds of compassion for him then as her fingers traced the burns as if she meant to probe them deeper. He stepped back from her, looking like the wounded dog he had always been.

She realized what happened and why the Hound found his way here. The killing did not scare him away from the battle. It must have been the fire. She could see it from where she stood close to the window. There was fire everywhere.

And he sought her because she was the only one in the world for him who could see past the cruelty and the hatred he held on for so long.

Sansa wanted to say his name again but was frightened of the feelings she was having for him at this point. As she maintained her silence, the Hound stepped forward again. He has recovered from her gesture and was now scowling at her.

"What do you want from me?"

"I want that song."

Sansa took a deep breath. "Why are you doing this? I just want to understand."

The Hound chuckled. "You're not safe here, you know, cooped up all alone in this cage. I can take you away," he walked forward, watching her.

"No," Sansa answered. "You've killed people. I can't…trust you."

"Everyone's a killer and you're surrounded by them. Your father was a killer too. Believe whatever you want but your daddy enjoyed his share of spilling blood."  
Sansa shook her head, taking a few steps away from him.

"I can take you back home," he said, stopping on his tracks. They stared at each other for a while before he added. "No one will ever harm you again."

It was Sansa who approached him further. She did believe he was genuinely trying to rescue her from all of it. But this was not the way she wants to flee.

The Hound tried to convince her again. "They're going to eat you alive, girl."

"I am a Stark of Winterfell," she assured him. "They will not break me." And she was suddenly reminded of Tyrion.

He said nothing. Sansa was able to examine the state of his condition as he just stood there in silence. His armor and white cloak were drenched in dried blood. He had a bottle with him and he drank from it as he kept his eyes on her. He threw it across the room and glared at her. "Now about that song," he said.

The Hound grabbed her by the shoulders and placed a savage kiss on her lips before she could protest. She squirmed beneath his weight but stayed where she was with her eyes wide open in shock. It was only this morning when Joffrey himself kissed her with the same kind of force but this was different somehow. The Hound pulled her against him by looping his arms around her waist now and she reluctantly closed her eyes. Without realizing it, she had allowed him to deepen the kiss. Another few seconds passed before he was pushing her to the bed. She allowed him.

Sansa felt disconnected the whole time as the Hound ran his hands all over her body as if she was water and he could never hold onto her. But he tried and she let him. The garments between them suddenly felt tight around her so when the Hound tore her gown from the collar and exposed her, she let him. It frightened her that she did. She remembered the riot in the marketplace weeks ago. She remembered the kingsguard and Joffrey ripping her gown before. But this was different. This moment with the Hound—she actually wanted it. All the horrors mingled with this curious new feeling rising inside her, making her heart jump out of her with his every touch.

His kiss was devoid of any tenderness, whether it was on her mouth or on her neck, and once or twice he even bit her. She didn't care. She kissed him back. They lay like there for a while, pressed against each other as the war raged on outside. It was only when he gripped her thighs and tried to push them apart that she pleaded for him to stop. She regained sense. This wasn't what she really wanted.

He did. The Hound lifted himself up. Once he was standing, he also pulled her up onto the bed. She sat before him, shaking and disbelieving. She placed her arms around herself, unable to bear the sight of him. There was a strange sensation on her thighs and her stomach felt like it was forcing her to puke. She closed her eyes. "Sweet little bird," she heard the Hound say.

Something was being ripped. When she opened her eyes, she realized that he had taken off his cloak and wrapped it around her. And then he was gone as if he blended into the darkness. As if he wasn't real at all. But Sansa could still taste the wine in her mouth. She could still feel the roughness of his hands groping her. In her mind, it was a violation of the most unforgivable sort, but her body disagreed.

She was overcome with a feeling that's between pleasurable and insane.

* * *

The battle of the Blackwater bay was won by the Lannisters and the Tyrells. Sansa had seen Ser Loras once more, the handsome Knight of Flowers, standing beside his sister Margaery and she is the most beautiful girl she had ever gazed upon since Cersei Lannister. The two of them faced Joffrey at court and as Ser Loras was awarded for his valor, the king agreed to marry his sister as well, which meant he permanently put an end to his engagement with Sansa. She felt ecstatic then, but was stopped by Lord Petyr Baelish on her tracks to give her a warning of the dangers that will come to her soon. "Joffrey is not the kind of boy who will give away his toys even if he's done playing with them," he said. "And now that you're a woman, there are other ways that he could enjoy you."

He put his hand gently on her elbow. "I could take you away from all of this." He offered. "For the love I feel for your mother, I swear to protect you, my lady." He paused, taking his hand off her and smiling at her with something she couldn't figure out. "You look just like her, you know, when she was young…"

"King's Landing is my home now," she answered him.

"Look around you, my lady. We're all liars here." Lord Baelish's smile grew wider. "And all of us are better than you."

That was the second offer of escape she had to turn down. Sansa remembered the flightless bird dying on the edge of a snowy hill.

_One day I will fly away._ _But not today._

Lord Varys walked ahead of her until they reached a door. He turned to her, his face grave. "He was wounded very badly, my lady. We tried everything we can.

Only the gods know now when Lord Tyrion will wake up again."

Sansa held the blanket close to her. She has sewn it for days and wanted to give it to Lord Tyrion herself. "Thank you for taking me to see him, my lord. How long has it been since he was confined?"

"As soon as we were able to accommodate," Lord Varys answered. "It's been a week and he hasn't opened his eyes the whole time."

"May I?" she asked, stepping forward.

Lord Varys opened the door and let her enter first. Sansa gripped her skirts with one hand and walked inside. The room was dimly lit and quite narrow. There was hardly anything in it except the bed which was at the very center. The moment her eyes adjusted and she saw Lord Tyrion beneath the sheets, she fought the urge to run to his side and shake him. It wouldn't be appropriate.

"I will leave you to say your piece, my lady." Lord Varys said, bowing to her slightly. He offered a smile one last time and then he closed the door behind him.

Sansa didn't approach the bed just yet. She gripped the blanket as she stood at the foot of the bed, remembering that the last time she saw her little brother Bran, he had been sleeping in his bed for days after his fall. Lord Tyrion was as tall as a child himself, and it only made it worse for her right now. She approached and sat on the stool that was beside him. She slowly placed the blanket on top of him, smoothening it with her trembling hands. "I'm sorry to see you this way, my lord," she said.

And then she took his hand and pressed it against her palm. "If you can hear me, please squeeze my hand." She waited but she knew that he couldn't.

Unable to hold back the tears, she bit her lower lip and allowed herself to weep. It's just her now. There was no one to deceive or hide from. "I will pray for you. To all the gods, old and new," she whispered as if it was their secret. "I will pray to them, pray for your recovery. Please get better. I want you to get better." She squeezed his hand tightly now as if she could wake him if she did.

"You…" she trailed off, wiping her tear-stained cheek with her other hand. "You are my friend. You are kind to me. And I never would have made it if you weren't there in the throne room that day to stand up for me. You're my friend. I know that now."

Sansa let go of his hand so she could smoothen the blanket again. It was blue with yellow flowers. She traced one of them as she watched his face which was covered in bandage. She would give anything to see those mismatched eyes again.

_Open your eyes, Tyrion_. Sansa leaned close to his face and kissed the top of his head tenderly. _Come back to me._

* * *

_He walked right into those outstretched arms and didn't care that she was able to lift him up. He buried his face on the space between her neck and shoulder, and whispered that he wants her, child or woman or whatever she is. And Sansa held him tighter. It was as if she wasn't capable of ever letting him go._

* * *

_"Why live life from dream to dream and dread the day when dreaming ends?" ~_One Day I'll Fly Away, Nicole Kidman


	7. Ours is the fury

**A/N:** _I really meant to finish writing this chapter soon but delayed it for a month or so. For that, I apologize and I hope this was worth the long wait. Before that, I just want to talk about why Sansa and Tyrion deserve a happy ending together. Aside from the fact that they're my favorite characters, I also believe that of all characters in the ASoIaF series, they're the ones who actively pursue love. Sansa is brought up to gender-conforming values of domesticity but she passionately believes that it's the life that will enrich her so she does everything by the book, hoping that one day she will be rewarded with a good husband and a beautiful home. Tyrion aspires to be recognized for his exceptional qualities in spite the fact that he's a dwarf and his political ambitions are mere substitutes for his hunger for appreciation and family. And they can find their hearts' desire in each other if they just give it a chance. This is why I wrote this fanfiction. I want to explore the scenarios that love is possible and can blossom between them. This fanfic will still have 12 chapters as planned and I've already outlined the scenes. It takes me a while to update now and then but I truly hope that my chapters are worth the wait. Thank you for all the encouraging reviews. I'm blessed to have you guys read this story. Keep supporting Sanrion!_

_I would like to thank _**__****TheLastPhenom** _as my beta._

**Reviews are very much appreciated.**

* * *

**Ours is the fury**

* * *

It had been five days since her first visit, but Sansa stayed by Lord Tyrion's bedside as often as she could, reading him her favorite passages of Ser Dunk's tales at night with hopes that it could help him dream about their favorite knight. The comfort and safety of such tales helped Sansa before, and she believed that if she could reach out to him through them, perhaps he'll wake up soon. It wasn't the most brilliant plan but it was the only thing that makes sense for her at this point.

Sansa stood near him many times before but she never felt so far from him like the way she felt now. Sometimes she would also use his room to hide from Joffrey or to get away from the other noble ladies who would ask her questions about how she felt now that her engagement with the King was moot. Lord Tyrion's recovery room was the only place in Red Keep she could get away from everything after all. In the mornings, she would kneel by his bed and pray for him. With her eyes closed, calmness would wash over her instantly akin to those solitary moments she spent in the Godswood long ago. Yesterday she fell asleep on him while she was kneeling by his bed and was only awoken by her handmaid Shae when she hadn't returned to her own room for hours.

Even after all these things, Lord Tyrion never woke up.

King's Landing had been her prison for almost a year and most days she only thought about escape. It was the only thing that kept her sane every time the kingsguard would beat her. It was the one thing that kept her hopes up though she did not even know how escape was even possible for her. And then she was given opportunities by the Hound and Lord Baelish a week ago to be spirited away from all the horrors, and it baffled her that she accepted neither of their help.

There was nothing in this horrible place worth staying for.

And yet somehow, against all logical explanation, whatever she felt for Tyrion Lannister seemed to be keeping her in place. It was hurtful to be tormented by such incomprehensible feelings especially if such feelings were directed towards someone she should never care for. Yes, Lord Tyrion was kind and had never done her injustice, but he was a Lannister and that meant all the difference in the world.

But he also became her friend when he didn't have to be and for that she will always be grateful. Nonetheless, there were events in their lives that are bigger than their friendship. Sansa didn't want to meet him in a crossroad one day where both of them had to choose between their friendship and their families because she knew what her choice will be, and it would be just the same for him.

She supposed it's a blessing in disguise then that Lord Tyrion continued to lay unconscious underneath the covers because Sansa could pretend for another day that they're not doomed to be enemies forever.

Lord Varys stayed with her one time and addressed the misfortune that had befallen in their families. "How could you care for him the way you do, my lady?" He asked her.

"I don't know," she responded. "But as long as he's confined here, I could pretend for a little while that I'm not a Stark and he's not a Lannister. For now, I could just be a girl looking out after my friend."

"You have a brave heart, Lady Sansa," Lord Varys replied. "It is a heart that's always ready to choose love rather than hate and it is your strength. Anyone who tells you otherwise is just jealous of such purity of the soul."

Sansa looked at him and smiled weakly. "Thank you, my lord."

He bowed and then walked out the door. Sansa turned back to Tyrion and placed the embroidery on top of him, the one she had been religiously knitting for a week now. She brushed away the hair from his forehead with one hand and then she kissed four of her fingers from the other.

She pressed them on his forehead as a peace offering.

* * *

There was no light that greeted him when Tyrion Lannister struggled to open his eyes. The first recognizable feeling, however, was that something was stuck to his face. It burned and itched. He tried to raise a hand to scratch it but his body disobeyed and he soon discovered that he was buried under heavy sheets.

He coughed and parted his lips weakly. He tried to speak up. No sound.

Tyrion moved to sit up but he could not. He tried calling out again.

"Podrick?" His voice was rough and it made his throat ache.

The space around him stood still in the dark.

"Podrick?" It was still barely a whisper. Tyrion adjusted his eyesight and moved his hand at last. When he reached for the right side, his fingers got a hold of an object. He shoved it from its place and it fell on the floor with a deafening shatter. Glass? Tyrion thought. Fortunately, it was enough to summon his squire.

"My lord!" Podrick rushed to his side. The boy hugged him to lift him up from the sheets. When Tyrion was able to press his back against the wall, he surveyed his surroundings with a hungry inquiry, eager and desperate to know where he was and how long he's been asleep. Pod had pulled the curtains from somewhere and the light overflowed all around them. Tyrion winced from the blinding contact but hurriedly blinked it away. He could only see with his left eye. Suddenly the remnants of the Blackwater battle rushed back to him and he put back the pieces together.

"My father?" he croaked. "Did we—did we win?"

"Yes, my lord." Pod was removing the layers of blankets above him. "Lord Tywin has placed you here to recover. Maester Pycelle and Lord Varys frequent your chambers as well as the Lady Sansa. Ser Bronn was here yesterday and watched you for a while…well, he drank most of the wine that I prepared for you since last week because I know you like it warm—"

"We—wait…" Tyrion coughed up the words.

"Yes! Yes, my lord, there's wine!" As if reading his thoughts, Podrick ran off only to return minutes after carrying a bottle. He didn't even get to put it in a cup but Tyrion didn't care either. He almost bit into the bottle, suckling it like a woman's tit, and the wine washed away the aching in his throat. Its warmth against his chin was comforting and he swallowed everything, almost emptying the bottle. Podrick placed it on the table and sat on the chair so he could lean close to Tyrion.

"Bronn—" he began, his mouth still struggling to pronounce the words clearly. "Did you just—say Ser Bronn?"

"Yes, Ser Bronn of the Blackwater," Pod replied. "He was knighted by the king."

"Fa—" Tyrion choked a bit as a result of an abrupt laughter. "Fa—fuck me! Bronn's a knight?"

"Well, yes," Pod answered. "He fought bravely."

"Fuck." Tyrion simply remarked. He paused, looking up at the ceiling which looked like it was going to collapse on him anytime. "And has—my family visited?"

Podrick took a while to answer so Tyrion knew that they did not. He asked again. "You—didn't let that old sh-shit handle my wounds alone, d-d-did you?"

"I stayed at your side when Maester Pycelle nursed you, yes."

"Nursed me?" Tyrion tried to laugh but it took too much effort. "Fuck."

"Lord Varys provided the curtains. They were only rags before. He gave more pillows and blankets too. And some incense to get rid of the smell."

"My most kind benefactor," Tyrion waved a hand at Pod. "And what did I break? Was that glass?"

"A mirror, my lord."

"Pick up a shard so I can look at my face."

"My lord, you should—"

"If you say 'get more rest', I will slap you. Now pick it up!"

Podrick bent from his chair and then he was holding a large piece of the broken mirror. Tyrion snatched it from him and raised it up so he could see. The bandage covered half his face. It was flat where half of his nose should be._ So that got chopped off then? Surprising I can still breathe_. With nothing else to do but to find humor in this horrifying spectacle, he managed to chuckle.

"Why, look, Podrick! Look at this ugly, vile creature!" He closed his eyes, feeling them moisten, and laughed some more. His grip on the shard tightened and it cut his palm in a brisk, painful way he found healing. He opened his eyes again and looked.

He almost roared. "Look at the monster I've become!"

Podrick didn't share his amusement, however. He spoke up. "Shae's here to see you, my lord. She's outside, waiting for your permission."

Tyrion held onto the piece of glass even when Pod tried to take it away. He merely grimaced and looked to the left while his fingers played with the shard. "Send her in," he commanded. His squire left to get Shae.

When she appeared in the doorway, she just stood there, watching him with eyes he could hardly make sense of from the distance. "Come to me, my lady."

Shae walked closed enough but stayed by the foot of his bed.

"What's this?" he asked in angry disbelief. "Do I repulse you?"

In response, Shae walked over to one of the other chairs near the windows and grabbed a blanket. She placed it on top of Tyrion's lap without a word. Feeling less than generous to appreciate such an inexplicable gesture, he was almost tempted to remove it. But then he glanced down at it and saw the yellow flowers. It was embroidery and a very well-crafted one at that. It could only be sewn by someone with a great skill. Tyrion felt his eyes well up with tears again.

"She was here every day," Shae spoke up, her voice quiet.

"I was informed."

"But you don't know why she watches after you every day."

"Well then," Tyrion looked up at her. "Tell me."

"Every morning, every afternoon, every night," Shae began, leaning closer to meet him in the eye. "She would stay here, knitting and praying for you. She didn't have to do any of this but you didn't have to save her from Joffrey either. That's why she's doing this because you did the same for her before."

"Are you saying…she did this because she didn't need a reason to?"

"As much as you didn't need a reason to be kind to her, my little lion."

He had nothing concrete to say to that so he kept his mouth shut and traced the yellow flowers with his other hand instead as he still held onto the glass shard. Shae must have noticed but she merely sat by his bed and placed her hands on his chest. This made him look at her again and it pained him to see her gaze at him like that. "You can always leave, you know," he said, without truly meaning it.

"Come with me then," she offered. There was softness in her expression that made him consider that she was being genuine. "We could go to Volantis and start a new life. There are ships about to sail this afternoon. We can escape through boarding one. What do you think, my little lion?"

Tyrion smiled at her but it was hard to maintain. "I can't go with you."

"Why not?"

"If you want, I can provide you gold or money to sail away by yourself."

"Fuck your money!" Shae spat out. "I'm not leaving if you're not coming."

"I don't want to leave, Shae," It hurt him to admit that, to finally own up to his hunger for the game. He tried to explain even if his throat still ached here and there. "Can't you see? I'm good at this—this life with these people and their schemes and conspiracies—the game. I want it. I want it so bad and more than anything." He sniffed and felt angry for feeling so emotionally overwhelmed by the declaration. "I want to stay. This is my life now. It doesn't have to be yours, my lady."

Before he could hear Shae's answer, the door opened and Lord Varys walked in. Tyrion allowed his gaze to wander. The beige robes he wore most times disguised his ambitious intentions effectively. That and the fact that he had no cock. Cersei warned him that such a man is most dangerous for his desires are not driven by lust or aggression. Tyrion despised Lord Varys in many ways but found his counsel and diplomacy to be most soothing at times. The spider foreigner bowed upon sight and began his piece. "I'm relieved that you have fully recovered, my lord. I was very concerned of your health in the last weeks. You were sorely missed."

"Why?" Tyrion sneered at him suspiciously. "I am no longer Hand and therefore of no immediate importance or influence to you anymore. I suppose that father dear has taken that position himself by now." He coughed again. His damn throat itched so much.

"A most practical and necessary move, of course," Lord Varys replied, frowning. "Nevertheless, your contributions and efforts in the battle of Blackwater Bay are of tremendous magnitude." He paused and added with a regretful expression that almost made Tyrion believed he was being genuine. "You have a brave heart, Lord Tyrion, and it saddens me that no one sees it as your strength, let alone recognize you for it. Joffrey and your father will not publicly applaud you for it but it is in my experience that the unsung heroes such as yourself have to contend themselves in anonymity they do not deserve for the good of the realm, that is."

"Heartbreaking," Tyrion clenched his fists and glared at him.

"Indeed." Lord Varys offered a smile that could be mistaken by an imbecile to be kind and then he bowed one last time at Tyrion and left.

Shae snapped her head toward him and remarked in all bitterness. "You still want to stay here, little lion? In this rat's nest of a kingdom that shits on you when all you ever require and desire is appreciation and love?"

Tyrion glared at her this time. He hated her for reading him so easily.

"Run away with me." Shae took the shard of glass from his hand and he let her. When he opened his palm, it was bleeding slightly and Shae lifted it up for a kiss. "Let's start a new life somewhere. No one will use or betray you ever again."

"You cannot guarantee me that, my lady." Tyrion gently removed his hand from her grasp. "I am a lion of Casterly Rock. I belong here with the conspirers, the two-faced fools, and in the company of ruthless councilmen who share my thirst."

Shae winced at the statement and tried to get away from him but Tyrion grabbed her wrist. "So you are ready to run now, aren't you? I cannot blame you."

She narrowed her dark eyes at him for a second and then she breathed out. "I am yours. And you are mine. I will not leave unless you change your mind and come with me. Call yourself whatever disgusting title you see fit but you are my little lion and you will have me. I will stab anyone in the eyes if they dare come between us."

Tyrion gulped down and something sharp fell on his throat but it didn't matter. She was his whore and he'd paid her well. This was just another elaborate fantasy that she was playing him for because he had trained her for it. And yet the way she spoke the words was authentic in tone and delivery that he could truly allow himself to believe that she meant them.

He tried to tell himself that it was just another ruse but when she pulled him into a tight embrace, all his doubts and reservations disappeared and she became all that ever made sense to him and everything that he wanted to keep.

* * *

The weeks had now blurred together.

Sansa sometimes wondered how she ever made it so far from home and managed to still keep on living despite all the bloodshed and despair that dragged her from under the bed at night with every intention to pillage and rape her. Sansa missed Lady Catelyn and Robb so much. She thought about Arya more often now and wished Bran can still walk and that Rickon didn't have to grow up not knowing who their father was. Sometimes she even dreamed about Jon Snow in the Wall, fighting against the cold that must be haunting his sleep as it did hers.

She wanted to be with her family even if she knew that the possibility that she will never be reunited with them again is lurking near. She didn't care. It didn't matter. As she watched the ships by herself one morning, she found herself making up stories about their journeys and that she was going to every one of them someday. That's all she could ever do in this terrible place; to yearn for flight but can only dream about it. She watched a ship sail away and as her gaze glided across it, the light from the sun struck her eyes and she had to look away. She tried to tell herself that the tears in her eyes were caused by that ray of light and nothing else.

"Lady Stark?"

Lord Petyr Baelish was approaching. She stood up and curtsied even though he was still far from her. When she watched him walk, she instantly recognized the smirk on his face once more, the kind that always troubled her because she mistrusted its intention no matter the sensible words that come out of his mouth.

"Lovely morning," he remarked as he took her hand for a kiss. "But why are you alone, my lady? Shouldn't your handmaid accompany you?"

Sansa opened her mouth but didn't know how to explain Shae's absence. She sneaked away earlier from her chamber but she did expect her handmaid to find her anyway. But she was nowhere in sight. That was curious. When she realized she was being disrespectful for not answering Lord Baelish immediately, she apologized.

"Not a thing to fret about, my dear, just making small talk." Lord Baelish gestured his hand for her sit down again. He took her side as soon as she did.

"So tell me, what are you doing here by yourself?" he nodded at the ships. "Perhaps hatching an escape ruse to get away from the lion's den?"

"My lord, I will never—Joffrey is my king. He is—"

"…your one true love. Really, my sweetling, you need to come up with a better song since you're no longer his betrothed. Let Margaery Tyrell sing that worn-out verse." Lord Baelish placed his hand under her chin to make her look at him. "But don't be quick to change the tone of your songs either. There are worse things to come for you." He lowered his voice. "And you're not a child anymore so I expect you to understand fully the gravity of the situation you are in."

Another danger? Sansa tried to maintain a neutral expression.

"You can be honest with me, Sansa."

She looked away as she tilted her head to the side so he won't touch her chin anymore. She didn't like him dropping formalities and saying her name like that without even trying to fake courtesy.

Lord Baelish only chuckled and moved closer. "My, you're quite in the mood." He was silent for a while and then he said. "When your mother was younger, she used to play this game. She won't speak to me, and I have to guess why or she will stay quiet to me forever. And I can't have that. She was precious to me. So I tried to figure out what was wrong every time she didn't talk to me."

Sansa couldn't help but listen. She hadn't heard a lot of stories about her mother's girlhood. For that, she looked at him again.

Sensing her change in disposition, he smiled and went on. "I always did figure it out. Always. I realized that the only reason she played that game was because she knew I understood her more than anybody else and that I'll always get her." He looked off now and something very sad crossed his features. Sansa couldn't stop staring at him. "I will always do right by Catelyn Tully no matter what," he trailed off.

"Is that what you told yourself, my lord," Sansa spoke up, "when you watched my father die in the Sept of Baelor…" she willed herself to stop talking but her hands were balled into fists on top of her lap by now so she felt compelled to ask him for the truth. "…that you were doing right by my mother? You were…_honoring_ her?" She didn't mean to make the question sound bitter.

Lord Baelish stopped smiling for a moment. They just stared at each other and Sansa did not dare to disengage eye contact first thought it occurred to her that she was being impolite. But the man knew her mother. He claimed to be fond of her and yet he still counselled their enemies. All she ever wanted was for people to stop lying to her. She was taking it worse from Lord Baelish because she could see it in his eyes every time he talked about her mother: he loved Lady Catelyn. So how could he betray her? How could anyone who loves someone this deeply ever have the strength and inhumanity to rip them apart?

As Sansa contemplated about such morbid thoughts, she didn't notice that he had took both her hands now. She relaxed them on his grasp.

"I told you before that I can and I will take you away if you want it," he said softly. "The offer still stands, Sansa. I would risk it because of the love I bear for your mother—" There it is again, Sansa thought, as she turned her eyes towards the sea, unable to look at him. Lord Baelish went on, "you're being careful. That's good. You should discern the right people to trust. I understand you question my motives but I'm sorry to say, sweetling, they will remain obscure from your view."

"Then how can you expect me to ever trust you?"

He let her hands go. "Call it a leap of faith, little dove."

"Don't call me that." Sansa shot back but she still kept her eyes on the sea. "The queen calls me that."

"Queen regent." He corrected her. "Soon, Margaery will be queen and perhaps she'll be kinder to you. I know that's her intention, seeing as she did send me here to ask you to join her and her grandmother, the great Lady Olenna, in one of the balconies this afternoon."

Sansa breathed out as she interlaced her fingers together. She took a pause before she asked. "What could they want from me?"

"A chance to gaze upon the Lannister's most prized prisoner. What else?"

Sansa swallowed something prickly and finally glanced at him.

Lord Baelish was smirking again. She was growing very fearsome of it. "Do yourself a favor, sweetling, and allow them the satisfaction. We all have parts to play in this dangerous game."

"What game?" Sansa knit her eyebrows together. "I don't want to play games."

"I'm afraid, my dear," he was rising from his seat, "that you are running out of options." He took her hand again and kissed it. "And you either play or die."

* * *

Back in her chambers, Sansa sat in front of her looking glass with a quill on her hand. She looked at her reflection as she tried to think of the best way to weave her thoughts in words she could write on the parchment.

She decided to start with the address.

_Lord Tyrion,_

_I write to tell you that I have prayed for you every single night so the gods could make haste of your recovery. I was informed by Lord Varys that you have awoken at last and I was more than relieved to hear that._

Sansa paused to read what she wrote. Satisfied, she kept going.

I'm afraid I cannot see you for now but if you ask for me then perhaps such a meeting could be arranged. But I believe that there won't be a reason to justify us talking again. I am no longer betrothed to the king and you are no longer his Hand. I do not wish to put you in a compromising situation, my lord. You no longer have an investment at stake. You are also no longer obliged to concern yourself with my welfare. I understand this completely, Lord Tyrion.

Sansa looked up from her reflection again. And then she went back to writing.

_I also understand that I was no longer that girl from the far North either. She was a child of thirteen who dreamed of a prince to take her away and make her his bride. I no longer want such a thing so badly like I used to because it wasn't everything I thought I wanted and it didn't turn out as I hoped. I should have listened to the Stark words better for winter did come, my lord. It came for all of us and it left a wound in me I never expect to heal. But alas, I remain a slave to my dreams because what I truly and inexplicably long for in spite of all this was_

She stopped writing again so she could close her eyes and stop the tears from leaking out. A few minutes passed before she took the quill once more.

_to be happy. To find love. For things never to end so wrongly but instead to always begin with the right song. Like songs that remind me of childhood where the world was small and entirely mine alone. No nightmares or ghouls. No death. No darkness. And everyone could sing what's in their hearts and everyone can fly and live their lives however they want. Forgive me, my lord. I suppose I'm still that girl from the far North after all but at the same time I utterly feel different and even foreign to who I used to be. I look at my reflection sometimes and a stranger greets me._

She pushed the parchment away so she would not get tears on it. Lord Varys visited her chambers earlier bearing more bad news from the North. Theon Greyjoy had seized Winterfell and…killed my little brothers…covered their bodies in tar and hang them. Theon was raised as a Stark. How could he committ such evil deeds?

Sansa covered her face and waited for another minute to compose herself. It was hard to believe she ever found the strength to keep writing again.

_But that stranger doesn't scare me. Perhaps one day she will introduce herself to me and I may never have to be alone again because I have her._

_Please stay safe, my lord. Lord Varys mentioned your courage in the battlefield. I've also heard from the other handmaids and servants that you stood up against the enemies and led the army long enough before your father arrived._

_Thank you for being brave, my lord._

_I hope to hear from you soon._

She was already rolling the parchment just in time when Shae showed up.

"Where were you?" she asked.

Her handmaid walked pass her to change the sheets of her bed. "I was just around. Did you want something?"

"Yes," Sansa wanted to deliver her letter to Lord Tyrion as soon as possible but as she watched Shae folding her sheets, a memory from the Blackwater battle that haunted her for weeks had surfaced again. "Can I talk to you about something?"

Shae looked at her. "You can talk and I will always listen."

She didn't know how to begin so she just sat there for a while, clutching the rolled parchment. Shae inquired what it was but she said that it was just one of her lessons from Septa Lorraine. She placed the parchment inside of a drawer.

"It's something I can't be able to discuss freely," she began.

"Try," Shae steadied her gaze on hers and placed the folded sheets back on the bed so she could approach her.

Sansa cleared her throat and placed her hands neatly on her lap. "The night during the battle, the Hound came to my room."

Shae kept quiet so Sansa went on. "He deserted the king. He was scared of the fire. He was…an utter mess and I was trying to make it all better."

Without a single word, Shae tucked Sansa's hair on her left ear as gently as possible and then she looked into her eyes and asked. "How did you make it all better?" Before Sansa could think of the answer, Shae cupped both her cheeks and said in a rough tone. "He did not invite himself to your bed, did he?"

Sansa's silence was enough for her so she pulled away and turned her back abruptly to pick up the sheets on the bed so she could fold them again.

"Nothing happened," Sansa began but Shae faced her again with an expression that reminded her of her mother's whenever she scolds Arya.

"You meant he didn't go further?"

"I didn't let it!" Sansa answered back, raising her voice in frustration. "It was a terrible moment for everyone that night. We were at war and he came to me and I thought I could make it all better. I wanted to help him, Shae, please don't be angry…" she bit her lower lip and focused really hard not to tear up.

"Sweet Sansa," her handmaid's arms were around her neck as she pulled her into an embrace. "I understand. You want to take care of him the same way you took care of those women in the shelter. But you can't all save them, you know."

"He cried." Sansa closed her eyes. "I remember. I felt his tears." _All over me._

"Hush now," Shae cupped her cheeks again. "So he kissed you? Put his hands on your chest? Tried to…" she paused. "Tried to put himself inside you—"

"Please," Sansa stood up and rushed to a corner somewhere. "I don't want to talk about this anymore. I just want to forget."

"Don't." Shae remarked. "Never forget it." Her handmaid walked to her. "Listen to me, Lady Sansa. You're no child. You offered yourself to him that night and there is no shame in that except that you didn't know what you were doing. You weren't in control. So come here," she took her hand. "Let me explain it to you."

When they were sitting on the bed, Shae said. "I'm not asking you to kill a man the next time he tried to lay his hand on you. I'm not going to tell you about what to do when a mob tries to rape you again because the only thing you could do then is run and fight back with all you got. No, this is something else entirely different from that. This is about what you should do," Shae took both her hands now, "when you want to be with a man without completely losing yourself to him during the act."

Sansa was tempted to cover her ears but Shae was gripping her wrists. "But…don't I just have to…lie there?"

"What?"

"On the…bed during my wedding night…"

Shae chuckled which made Sansa's cheeks flush. "Did you just lie there when the Hound was on top of you?"

"Yes," Sansa tried to remember. "I think…I touched him. I held onto him. He was in armor. I don't…think we should talk about this anymore."

"My lady," Shae comforted her. "Don't be afraid. These things will happen to you now that you've bled. You will feel certain things words can never explain but a single touch can. A single touch…" she traced her finger on Sansa's cheek, "…that's all it takes sometimes to unravel you."

Something was stuck on Sansa's throat and she couldn't breathe well anymore.

"This is why you must be prepared," Shae added. "You need to assert control. One moment of lust can undo anyone, my lady, even noble lords and ladies. And with the beauty that you possess, both kinds will line up in front of you."

Sansa didn't want to hear any more of this. "I understand. Everyone would either desire me for my body, or marry me for my wealth."

_But nobody would want or marry me for love._

"Don't sound so gloomy," Shae patted her knee and then she stood up. "You are Sansa Stark. That still means something to the rest of us."

_But what?_ Sansa wondered._ What else can I be but property to be traded or sold?_

* * *

Tyrion tried not to scratch his wound beneath the bandage as he sat across his father. The new Hand of the King was too preoccupied to notice him come in.

"The badge looks good on you," Tyrion remarked as he stared at the empty goblet on his hand. He had drunk his second cup earlier and Tywin Lannister still didn't look at him. "Almost as good as it looked on me."

"What do you want, Tyrion?" The father finally acknowledged his son. "You enjoyed being Hand, I'm well aware. Now don't waste my time."

"I was just wondering why you never visited me," Tyrion began. "At least Cersei stopped by and we know how she always felt about me."

"You're no stranger to her repugnance." Tywin answered.

"I wasn't sure I even deserved it and you don't seem to discourage her of it."

"Again, what do you want from me?"

Tyrion shifted on his seat. "What do you think? You forgot to visit your wounded son after he fell on the battlefield." Tyrion wanted to drink again but stopped himself. "I organized the defense of this city. I led the foray when the enemies are at the gate while your grandson, the king, quivered in fear behind the castle walls." He placed the goblet on the table with a loud thud to get his father's attention. "I bled in the mud for our family. And as my reward, I was trundled off in some dark little cell. So what do I want?"

Tywin Lannister finally looked him in the eye.

Tyrion didn't hesitate then. "A little bloody gratitude would be a start."

With a graceful manner, Tywin rose from his seat but kept his eyes on his son the whole time. "I sent you here to advise the king but instead you brought a whore to my bed and you beat Joffrey senseless—"

"He was abusing Sansa Stark! He was going to cut her up had I not intervened!"

Tywin's voice hardened. He clearly didn't appreciate being interrupted. He went on. "I gave you real power and authority. You chose to spend your days, as you always have, bedding harlots and drinking with thieves."

"Sometimes I drink with the whores too," Tyrion remarked wryly. "Now all I want is to be acknowledged for my efforts in the battlefield. I want to be recognized by the stupid king himself that I held his city's defense even when—"

"Like a juggler and a singer who require applause, is that what you are now? Are you not a Lannister? Will you be demanding a garland of roses every time you would suffer a wound in a battlefield?"

Tyrion kept his mouth shut. He was biting on his tongue literally he could just chew on it and spit it out. He kept his eyes on the goblet before him now.

"Well then," Tywin crossed the table to get to him so he could get a better look at his disappointing child. "I have seven kingdoms to look after and three of them are in open rebellion so whatever it is that you want from me, be quick about it."

"I want what is mine by right," Tyrion found his voice at last. "Jaime is a Kingsguard, forbidden from marriage and inheritance." He met Tywin Lannister's gaze boldly. "What I want is Casterly Rock. I am your son and lawful heir. Casterly Rock is mine by right." He couldn't believe he was able to say those words without flinching.

It was always hard to read Tywin's inscrutable expression. He was silent for a long time. When he spoke up, there was no hint of emotion in his voice. He reserved that for people he actually cared about. He would never spare Tyrion that.

"You will be rewarded for your accomplishments in the Blackwater battle. You will be given a position fit your talents so you can serve your family and protect our legacy. And if you served faithfully, you may even be rewarded with a suitable wife."

Tyrion breathed out and then balled his fists. He tried again. "But father—"

"You killed your mother to come into the world."

The hall stood still between them as soon as the statement left his father's mouth. Tywin could no longer maintain his façade. Tyrion could see in his face all those years he hated him. Just like Cersei, his father has always wanted him dead a long time ago. The pain from seeing that so clear and true on Tywin's face for the first time was like having ice scrapped inside him everywhere.

His wound didn't just itch now. It burned.

It didn't end though. His father kept talking as if the point didn't deliver home when it already did. It nestled on Tyrion's chest and festered there.

"I would rather be consumed by maggots than see you be named heir to Casterly Rock." His father walked away from him and back to the table. But the words kept pouring out of his mouth, killing Tyrion each time they struck. "You are an ill-made, spiteful little creature, full of envy, lust and low cunning. I cannot prove that you are not mine. I had to watch you waddle around wearing the proud lion that was my father's sigil and his father's before him."

Tyrion listened to him rant and felt his heart harden with each cruel sentiment. And Tywin Lannister didn't stop until he was sure that Tyrion was destroyed from where he sat. "But neither gods nor men will ever compel me to let you turn Casterly Rock into your whorehouse!"

Tywin turned a page from the book he was writing on. He couldn't bear to gaze at Tyrion anymore. "Now leave. Speak no more of your rights to the family name because you were never an important part of it."

The stone floor beneath Tyrion was painfully pushing back on his weight as if it could tear off his ankles but he didn't show it as he walked out of the door.

* * *

His squire Podrick was running towards him, clutching something on one hand. "My lord, I have some good news…" he must have noticed the dark expression on Tyrion's face so he lowered his voice. "The lady Sansa writes."

He handed him the rolled parchment.

Tyrion hurriedly entered his chambers so he could read it.

_…winter did come, my lord. It came for all of us…_

_…what I truly long for in spite of all this was to be happy…_

_…love._

_…for things to begin with the right song…_

_…songs that remind me of childhood…_

_…no nightmares or ghouls…death…darkness…_

_…everyone could sing what's in their hearts…_

_…live their lives however they want._

Tyrion stared at the last two sentences on the letter.

_Thank you for being brave, my lord._

"That was all I've ever wanted," he said aloud as he chuckled. _I don't need titles or lands or even your love, father. All I want was_ "A little bloody gratitude."

He quickly wiped his eyes with the back of his hand before the tears came and then he sniffed and chuckled again.

Still holding the letter, he smiled at her writing and said. "It's a start."

* * *

It was Ser Loras who approached her as Sansa was walking in the garden. She was astounded by his presence at first, seeing as he still looked as fresh and exquisite as ever in his dark green garments with golden laces. His hair was shorter now but it still had those curls that elegantly framed his handsome face. Sansa can't suppress her glee at the mere sight of him. She couldn't come up with any more words to describe and capture him in all his beauty and charm.

"My lady," Ser Loras offered his arm and she took it, her eyes fixed on him the whole time. By gods, the sunlight seems to live in each strand of his hair. In just a few minutes, Ser Loras made her feel young again. She's fourteen and that's hardly old, but given everything that has happened—it's just nice to feel young once more.

"I trust that you had a lively morning," he remarked.

"Yes, Ser Loras. Thank you." Sansa paused, smiling to herself as they walked across a line of roses. She glanced at one and thought about the sigil of House Tyrell. They were the only house in Westeros that seemed perfectly content using a flower as their sigil. Sansa have always wondered about that. A rose is not exactly a formidable symbol. A thought had occurred to Sansa then. "Ser, we've met before, have we not? Back in King Robert's tourney, you gave me a rose. Do you recall?"

"Have I?" Ser Loras barely looked at her. "I'm sorry, I give lots of flowers to ladies." He made a sweeping gaze at her then back to where they were headed. "If I did then I sincerely hope it has made you happy, Lady Stark."

"Yes, very much so," Sansa looked off to the side and tried to lessen her smile.

When she looked ahead of her again, Sansa could see Margaery Tyrell already standing at the next corner, waiting. She had the most beautiful brown hair that curls in all the right places. She almost rivals Ser Loras' beauty. Sansa curtsied before her and then Ser Loras gave her away for his sister to wrap an arm around her.

"My dear Lady Stark," Margaery Tyrell began, tightening her grip on Sansa's arm warmly. "I'm so happy to finally make your acquaintance. You are as painfully elegant as they say you are." With the other hand, she grazed the tip of her index finger under Sansa's chin so she could look some more. Sansa tried not to blush.

"You are very kind to say so, my lady."

"Grandmother," Margaery called out as they neared the balcony. "She's here."

Olenna Redwyne regarded Sansa with a curt glance which didn't linger. She had her hands on her lap the whole time as she spoke. "Well, look at that. A lamb. I thought Starks are supposed to be wolves. This girl looks as meek as any lamb could get." She let out a chuckle. "I'm sorry, my dear. I've met your mother many years ago when she was young. She's a spirited one even if she tried to conceal it with her courtly manners. Cat is a fine Tully and you have her looks. But are you as firm and graceful like she was? I wonder…"

Sansa wasn't even sitting when the older woman scrutinized her like that and chattered on. She understood by instinct why they call her the Queen of Thorns.

"Grandmother, don't spook her." Margaery beamed at Sansa. "I'm sure Stark women have their own charms. Isn't she very beautiful?"

"Ah yes, as far as prisoners go, she truly is," the Queen of Thorns munched on a cracker and then gestured at Sansa with that hand. "Now I had you summoned here because I want to see just how precious you are that it makes you worth being locked up away from home. And yes, now I see it." The older woman leaned in and smiled. "The Lannisters have great taste, I can give them that."

Sansa opened her mouth to speak. "The queen regent was very hospitable. She took me in despite of my family's treason."

"It must have been so awful for you living here," Margaery frowned at her.

"No," Sansa said in her singsong way. "Joffrey is a generous king."

"Oh?" Lady Olenna narrowed her eyes at Sansa. "That's comforting. Tell us more about this boy king. You can understand that I'm only concerned about my beloved granddaughter's future prospects. Let me know what you think of that."

"Lady Margaery is the luckiest noble lady in the seven kingdoms," Sansa answered, citing her verse well. "She's blessed by the gods to have someone as gallant as Joffrey Baratheon for her lord husband," she glanced at Margaery. "A most prosperous union, I pray." Sansa gave a smile, trying to make it seem warm and welcoming even if there's a sick feeling stabbing her on the chest as she spoke.

Margaery Tyrell was a delicate rose as people told her. Joffrey would crush her petals himself. Would Sansa lie some more, knowing that it will lead to her demise?

"Prosperity?" The Queen of Thorns seemed amused by that. "Lady lamb, the Tyrells have prospered for centuries now. We have bountiful gardens back from where we come from. They're bigger than all the balconies here in Red Keep," she raised both her hands to gesture. "We've cultivated the earth where our house has stood for generations after generations. We've enriched it with a variety of fruits, vegetables, trees, flowers—all the natural things the gods only hand out to their most favored servants. And as such we do the same with our alliances which are always found in good faith," she leaned in to Sansa, "and in loyal service. I could tell you're a girl who knows where her allegiances lie."

"I'm pleased for you to regard me in such a generous spirit, my lady. Thank you." Sansa replied. "I knew stories about Highgarden and they're all marvelous tales about how it resembles a paradise, that it's akin to an oasis surrounded by a desert."

Lady Olenna chuckled at that and kept her eyes on Sansa as she called out for one of the squires who rushed to her side immediately. "Get us some of those lemoncakes. I've heard that they're your favorite, lady lamb."

"Yes," Sansa answered, trying to conceal her surprise. "You're most gracious. I do love lemoncakes. Thank you, my lady."

"Now tell us more about Joffrey," Margaery leaned in, her hand now touching Sansa's. "I'm to marry him in a few months. I would like to know what he's like through your perspective. You were betrothed to him once after all."

"I've already told you, my lady—"

"You merely sang praises like a good little girl which I'm sure you are," the Queen of Thorns snorted. She drank from her goblet and then went on. "As his bride once, you talked to him a lot more than any other ladies in court. I'm sure he's a gallant king and all that, but what is he like as a young man. We want to know."

"Brave and gentle," Sansa replied without missing a beat. "He always offers you kindness and he shares his riches to anyone whom he deems worthy."

The two women stared at her for a while. Sansa wondered if she's doing anything wrong. Margaery spoke first. "Sansa," she said, "you can tell us anything and it will stay among the three of us. I promise you."

"We're all women here, lady lamb," Lady Olenna added. "We're on your side."

"Forgive me," Sansa replied. "I don't know what else you want me to say. Joffrey is my king. My beloved king. He is my one true love."

"Then it must make you angry that he's marrying someone else," Lady Olenna took the plate of lemoncakes and made Sansa reach for a piece as she kept regarding her with those steely blue eyes. Was she trying to bait her?

"No, nothing like that." Sansa took a bite of the lemoncake and then she answered. "Joffrey's happiness is also my happiness. I would do anything—"

"You!" Lady Olenna suddenly pointed at one of the squires. "I heard you have a lovely voice and that you used to be a traveling musician. Would you care to sing a

song? Something to brighten up the mood of this terribly dry occasion—no offense, my dear," the older woman patted her knee. "But I'd rather listen to a squire sing a song than hear you recite that dreadfully pretentious verse you have going."

Sansa was shocked. "My lady, I did not mean to—"

"Don't worry about offending me, lady lamb," the Queen of Thorns winked at her. "If you don't try to disrespect me a little then you are not worth talking to."

The squire had a lyre ready. "What song would you like me to sing, my lady?"

Lady Olenna glanced at her granddaughter and Margaery said. "I would like to hear The Bear and the Maiden Fair. It's one of my favorites as a child," she placed her hand on Sansa's again. "Do you know the song? Quite wicked, if you ask me." Margaery's smile was a bit suggestive which made Sansa looked off, blushing.

Of course she knew the song. Her handmaids sing it all the time and laugh among themselves when they do. Sansa never understood why.

The squire cleared his throat but before he could begin, Lady Olenna said. "I'd like all of the squires and handmaids to sing along, actually. And make it loud like you're trying to rip my ears off. It's all right if you don't harmonize. Pretend like you're drunk with ale in some tavern somewhere. Go wild with it!"

Sansa couldn't tell if she was being sarcastic or audacious and neither could the rest of the servants but they gathered around the three of them and began to sing. Once they were singing together (which didn't sound as bad as she hoped it would be), Margaery took her hand again and placed it on her lap this time.

"My lady, listen to me," she said as she got out of her chair so she could kneel in front of Sansa. The position was demeaning but she didn't seem to care. "No one will hear what you say at this moment. You could whisper if you want, if that makes you feel safer. But we could tell that you are lying about something."

"No, my lady, I'm—"

"Shh," With her other hand, Margaery placed her hand on Sansa's cheek. "We could be sisters, you and I. But you need to take a risk with me."

Sansa bit her lower lip then glanced back at Lady Olenna who was pretending to coach the servants to sing with both her hands. She looked back at Sansa and asked. "Do you want them to sing louder, my dear?"

Sansa shook her head and then she said. "I don't know what you want me to say, my ladies. I think the king would make you happy, lady Margaery. He will be loyal and true and—"

"You're out of tune, Lady Stark," the Queen of Thorns pointed at her. "And my granddaughter means it, you know. You could be sisters. I certainly don't mind."

"I beg your pardon?" Now Sansa is more confused than ever.

"Once I'm married to Joffrey and I became queen," Margaery explained, taking both of Sansa's hands and closing them around hers, "we could have you marry Loras. It could be one of my very first royal decrees."

Sansa couldn't speak so Margaery kept talking. "You must come to Highgarden someday, Sansa. You are so beautiful and full of hope. I could see it. You could be happy there with my brother. You can bear him sons and they would have red hair like yours. And the children could play under the sun and eat berries all day long."

Sansa could actually see the picture clearly in her head and it hurt.

"I would name them Brandon and Rickon," she whispered softly.

Margaery smiled at her once more and then she cupped her cheeks.

The servants continued to sing (and wail) around them and their conflicting tones was overpowering that Sansa could hardly hear herself speak. When she glanced at the Queen of Thorns, she was saying. "Not a bad bargain, isn't it, lady lamb? Not bad at all for a traitor's daughter."

_A traitor's daughter_…Was that all she was to the world now?

Margaery must have noticed her expression because she took Sansa's hands again and squeezed. "I'm very sorry about your father and how he died—"

"Joffrey did that," Sansa snapped. Her voice was soft but there was a darker tone underneath it as she spoke. "He told me he loved me and when I asked for his mercy, he cut my father's head off and put it on a spike. And then he took me to the walls and made me look at it," Sansa gritted her teeth. "For twenty-five days he would make me go there. Every morning. Every afternoon. Every night. He would make me look at my father's head until it was no longer his face that I see. Until it all rotted away. Until it no longer resembled the man I loved…" she swallowed her tears away and tightened her grip on Margaery's hands.

Anger blazed through her with such a force that she thought she will explode. She was already feeling dizzy but she kept willing herself to stay strong as she glanced at the Queen of Thorns to tell her as quietly as she could, "He's a monster."

Lady Olenna gestured at her servants and they all stopped singing at once. And then she glanced at her granddaughter who only shrugged her shoulders.

"That's unfortunate to hear," the older woman remarked. "But we women make the most out of the circumstances, don't we? Tell me, my dear, what do you want?"

Sansa glanced at Margaery who nodded her head kindly and then back at the Queen of Thorns. She answered. "I want love."

It sounded ridiculous when she said it aloud but it lifted a weight from her shoulders that she didn't expect it could. "It's all I've ever wanted."

* * *

Tyrion traced his fingers across the pale red cover of his favorite book. It was withered by time and the dusty corners where he would hide it in his room. But the tales within the pages do not seem to age the same way at all. Tyrion allowed himself a smile as he perused through Ser Dunk's adventures. Every time Tyrion holds this book, he still felt like eight years old and learning the stories for the first time.

He placed it aside so he could begin writing the letter to Sansa Stark.

_Lady Sansa,_

_It warms my heart that you dutifully stayed by my sickbed for weeks when it is not your obligation to do so. Were you aware that neither my father nor sister visited my chambers the whole time? It's not a strange thing for my family to neglect me, however. I've grown quite accustomed to it over the years. This is why it makes all the difference in the world that you chose to visit me every day, my lady, where my family failed to do so. I would be remiss if I do not extend the same compassion as you did. I also saw the embroidery you have made for me and it's spectacular. Your skills are unparalleled, if I may be allowed to say so._

Tyrion paused, tapping his index finger on his chin as he thought of what to write next. For some reason, he had the feeling he knew exactly what to say but was hesitant to expose himself to her. But perhaps by sharing a piece of him that he denied from other people, she might begin to trust him. Isn't that the point of disclosure? Tyrion didn't want to manipulate her into liking him as if he had done so in the past. This friendship was far too important for such a ploy.

Sighing, he decided to write how he feels no matter how ashamed he is for having such feelings. Besides, there was no one else to tell.

_I had the most enlightening conversation with my father earlier. The great Tywin Lannister was preoccupied with fixing the problems of the seven kingdoms at this moment so I suppose he couldn't spare some time to mend fences with me. I was merely waiting for him to acknowledge my acts of valor during the battle but he couldn't even do that. Out of spite, I suppose, I asked to be named heir of Casterly Rock. I happen to know it's my birthright. I'm his son. Unfortunately, he and I still disagree on that. He said I was ill-made because I killed my mother when she birthed me. I have never been so angry in my entire life to hear him speak of me that way even if I knew that's how he felt all along. But perhaps I judge the man too harshly. I heard from our maesters that when my father married Joanna Lannister, he was the happiest man alive. She was undoubtedly the best part of him, they say. I suppose losing her was like losing that part of himself that felt love and could give love. For that, I can sympathize with the pain of losing the woman one loved. I lost my own not long ago and he was also the cause. I suppose that makes it even._

_Lannisters pay their debts the hard way, my lady._

Tyrion chuckled to himself and shook his head. He read what he wrote so far and was tempted to crumple the parchment. But then he kept writing some more.

_Since we are on the subject of my mother, I would like to give you Ser Dunk's adventures. You don't need to borrow it anymore because it's yours now. I was told that it was Joanna Lannister's favorite book. When I found out it was hers, I stole it from my father's chambers and have read it over and over every night since. But I need to let go now. I also believe you may need it more than I do. I hope you will have fewer nightmares as soon as you have this book by your bedside._

_Thank you for saying such things, my lady. Your version of the world will exist one day. I don't know when or how but it could still happen. They say that this world is no longer a romantic place. But there are people in it who still are..._

* * *

Sansa sat by her bed with the book of Ser Dunk's adventures by her side. She read his letter thrice now and she still smiled every time she got to the end.

_Don't let the world win, Sansa Stark._

As soon as she felt the tears come, she pressed the parchment against her lips and kissed it. And then she folded it neatly and hid it between the pages of the book. She then laid her head on the pillows with the book resting on her chest.

Sansa opened it from the last page she read weeks ago and recited the words to herself. They washed over her until the pain and fear that filled a void in her heart for months were replaced by new songs instead.

She sang along with a stronger voice.

* * *

"_When you lose something you can't replace, I will try to fix you"_

* * *

**A/N:** _Tyrion's last words about "They say the world is no longer a romantic place…" is taken from a dialogue between two characters from the show Ally Mcbeal. I thought it suited Sansa beautifully so I borrowed it._


End file.
